



Q.s% U.L 


Copyright N° 


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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






THE HIGH ADVENTURE 






















THE 

HIGH ADVENTURE 


By 

JOHN OXENHAM 



NEW YORK 

DUFFIELD & COMPANY 



Copyright 1911 by 
DUFFIELD & COMPANY 


©CI.A303220 

VVb.Y 




CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER I 


Isle of Peace — Storm 

9 

CHAPTER II 


Isle of Peace — Calm 

18 

CHAPTER III 


Glamour .... 

24 

CHAPTER IV 


Mademoiselle Explains 

28 

CHAPTER V 


Planning the Venture 

35 

CHAPTER VI 


En GAR90N ..... 

40 

CHAPTER VII 


Out of the Cage .... 

. 47 

CHAPTER VIII 


Spread Wings ..... 

5 

. 60 


6 


CONTENTS 



CHAPTER IX 


PAGE 

Only a Hairpin ! 

CHAPTER X 

• 

. 67 

Only Four Days 

CHAPTER XI 

• 

82 

Dark Doings 

CHAPTER XII 

• 

86 

The Sergeant Makes Four 

CHAPTER XIII 

• 

. 107 

In the Net 

CHAPTER XIV 

• 

. 114 

Through the Net 

CHAPTER XV 

• 

.. 122 

Rough Quarters 

CHAPTER XVI 

• 

. 129 

The Black-Faced 

Three 

CHAPTER XVII 

• 

. 142 

Precautionary Measures . M 

CHAPTER XVIII 

. 

. 161 


Cataclysm 


. 170 


CONTENTS 7 

PAGE 

CHAPTER XIX 

Unger's Hut . . . . . . .183 

CHAPTER XX 

The Cook and the Navvy . . . .193 

CHAPTER XXI 

A Voice in the Night ... . . 207 

CHAPTER XXII 

Transformation .... . . 213 

CHAPTER XXIII 

2—1=1 . 220 

CHAPTER XXIV 

Sonia's Despair .... . 225 

CHAPTER XXV 

Purgatory ..... . . 230 

CHAPTER XXVI 

Hearts Insurgent .... . 236 

CHAPTER XXVII 

Till Death .... . 241 

CHAPTER XXVIII 


Storm-Washed 


, 251 


8 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XXIX 
The Last Day .... 

CHAPTER XXX 

Down-Hill ..... 

CHAPTER XXXI 

Two From the Dead .... 

CHAPTER XXXII 
Hoping Ever .... 

CHAPTER XXXIII 
They Were Content 

CHAPTER XXXIV 
Like a Star in the Night 

CHAPTER XXXV 
“Komme !” ..... 

CHAPTER XXXVI 
Grains of Dust .... 

CHAPTER XXXVII 
That Which They Sought 

CHAPTER XXXVIII 


PAGE 

. 263 

. 267 

. 276 

. 281 

. 284 

. 288 

. 291 

. 302 

. 306 


“Come — Sonia ! 


. 313 


CHAPTER I 


ISLE OF PEACE STORM 

T HE Captain and the Chief Engineer of the Jean- 
J deques Rousseau were coaling their ship in the 
calm and leisurely fashion which befitted their of- 
ficial standing and surroundings. 

No wildest exaggeration could describe the tiny wharf 
as jutting out into the placid lake. The very utmost that 
could be claimed for it was a mild suggestion to any passing 
craft that, if it really was on the look-out for a landing, it 
might go farther and possibly fare worse. 

At the moment, however, the wharf was cumbered and 
crowded and busy beyond its wont, by reason of the dozen 
very small bags of coal which the Captain and the Chief 
and Only Engineer were casually carrying on board the 
J.-J. Rousseau , and perfunctorily emptying down a small 
black hole in the small white deck. 

When the last small bag was emptied, and the Captain 
had gently kicked all the stray lumps into the hole, the 
Chief and Only Engineer got a soft brush and swept the 
deck, and then dipped a mop overboard and lightly touched 
away the last remaining traces of disorder. 

The young man in the easy shooting-suit, who had 
walked across from the station carrying his own portman- 
teau because no one had offered to do it for him, had got 
as far away as possible into the bows when the coaling 
operations began, and had lit a cigar, and watched it all 
with the tolerant amusement of one out for a holiday and 
to whom time was of no consideration whatever. 


10 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Doesn’t seem to be any great rush for the boat,” he 
said to himself. “Glad I made sure of lunch, anyhow. 
Suppose we’ll start sometime.” 

And when the Captain had finished the story he had 
been reading in a weekly paper when duty called him to 
the coal-bags, he lit a long thin cigar, gave a searching 
glance along the shady avenue that led to the station, to 
make quite sure that no fellow-citizen was endangering his 
health by hastening to the boat, slipped a cord attached 
to the wharf off a cleat by his side, and the Chief and Only 
Engineer let himself down feet foremost through the open- 
ed glass top of the engine-room and pulled a handle. 

The Jean- Jacques purred softly and crept away from 
the friendly little wharf, in a quiet and furtive fashion, 
as though anxious to escape unobserved without any sug- 
gestion of offence. The Chief and Only Engineer crawled 
up through the open window, lit a long thin cigar, pulled a 
paper out of his blue linen pocket, and balanced himself 
on the rail whence he could look down into the machinery, 
and gave himself up to study. 

The Captain slid a loop of string over a spoke of the 
wheel, lest the Jean- Jacques should take to wild and un- 
usual courses, unlocked a box, took out another smaller 
box and opened it, and in the character of Purser, looked 
invitingly across at the solitary passenger in the bows. 

The young man rose obediently and strolled along and 
requested a ticket for St. Peter’s-insel. 

“You’re not overcrowded to-day, Captain,” he said 
pleasantly in German. 

“It is late in the season, you see.” 

“I suppose I’ll be able to get a room at the hotel there ?” 

“Oh, yes. You stop?” 

“Yes, I thought of stopping a week or so. It’s a nice 
quiet place, isn’t it ?” 

“Oh, yes, it is quiet.” 


ISLE OF PEACE -STORM 


11 


“Permit me to offer you a cigar,” and the Captain gra- 
ciously accepted it and placed it carefully in his waistcoat 
pocket. 

“And you, Herr Engineer?” and the Chief and Only 
graciously accepted one, and placed it carefully somewhere 
inside his blue linen jacket. 

The Captain, as Purser, clipped the ticket he had just 
been paid for, collected it, locked it up in his box, and as 
Captain hauled out his weekly paper, subsided on to his 
seat and started another story. And the Jean- Jacques 
rolled quietly on across the blue mirror of the lake towards 
a tiny red-roofed village, which sprawled up the sides of 
a wooded promontory, and lay basking in the late Septem- 
ber sun amid its widespread vineyards, like a dapple of 
poppies among the com. 

“Erlach!” said the Captain quietly, as he slipped the 
noose from the wheel and the boat nuzzled up to the wharf, 
and waited. But the long road up to the village lay white 
and empty to the sun, so presently they loosed again, the 
Captain tied up the wheel, and he and the Chief and Only 
betook themselves to their literary studies once more. 

Now the Jean- Jacques was jogging lazily along due 
north, skirting a long low shore of reeds and rushes backed 
by a dense tangle of shrubs, out of which, in one place, a 
clump of trees rose like an island in the midst of the lower 
growth. This, however, was not the actual shore of the 
lake, but an extraordinary peninsula, miles in length 
though but a few yards in width, which was slowly evolving 
itself out of the gradually sinking level of the Bieler See. 
On the other side of it was another broad stretch of water, 
then the eastern shore, and far away behind them a long 
serrated line of snowy peaks. The western shore of the 
lake was dotted with tiny white villages, set like jewels in 
a broad band of velvety green vineyards, and behind them 
rose the dark pine-clad heights of the Chasseral, 


12 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


But the solitary passenger had just had lunch, the sun 
was pleasantly warm, and the cradle-like roll of the little 
steamer was eminently soporific. He was almost in a 
dreamy doze when the boat drew up again at a small wood- 
en pier connected with the shore by a long slender plank- 
way. 

“St. Peter’s,” murmured the Captain, and the young 
man woke with a start, picked up his bag and coat and 
stick, and stepped ashore with a nod and a good-day to the 
studious ones. 

“Where’s the house?” he asked, for he could see nothing 
but trees and water. 

“Other side.” 

So, not knowing how far the other side might be, he 
dropped his bag where he stood, hung his coat over the 
railing, and strolled inland in search of a lodging. 

The path wound on and on through tangled under- 
growth, with a pleasant chequer of light and shade from 
the thin leafage of trees, which struck him as having shot 
up too quickly for sturdy growth. Just outside the lower 
growth on either side, the lake gleamed through the tall 
rushes but a foot or two lower than the path. 

He came presently to a massive stone wall about five 
feet in height, which rounded away from him on either 
side and disappeared among the trees above and the 
undergrowth below. It was a very ancient wall built of 
huge rough-hewn blocks without mortar, gray and mossy, 
with tiny ferns and flowers and creeping plants in every 
niche and cranny, and inside the wall was what he had come 
for — and more. 

A slope led up through the wall into the island, and he 
found that the higher ground inside was level with the top 
of the gray stone wall, which clasped it all round like a 
solid granite belt and held it all together. 


ISLE OF PEACE— STORM 


13 


The path along which he had come had evidently at one 
time been below the level of the lake, and this break in 
the wall and the slope up which he had come had been a 
landing-place for boats. This firm rich turf, speckled 
all over with pale purple crocuses although it was late 
September, was the island proper, and here were long 
green glades, and mighty trees, — red-stemmed pines a hun- 
dred feet high and every one as straight as a ship’s mast, 
and huge spreading oaks, and great fantastic beeches 
flinging out wild arms — it might be in welcome though it 
looked more like warning. 

As he came softly up the slope, half a dozen lizards, 
basking on the great squared stones of the ancient landing- 
place, whisked out of sight, all except their tails, and then 
came peeping back for another look at so unusual a sight 
as a passer-by. Far away up in the blue above, the giant 
trees rustled a soft welcome — or a warning ; and the young 
man stood and took a deep breath of delight. 

“A find, my boy, a veritable find!” he said to himself. 
“If I had searched for a year I could not have found a 
more perfect place. Peace ! Perfect peace ! Those trees 
are like vast cathedral aisles. I could live here for a year 
and never tire of it.” 

A choice of ways invited him : to the left, a broad path, 
dim even at mid-day by reason of the thick green roof 
overhead, wandered away along the top of the gray stone 
wall ; to the right a long stretch of meadow-land ran like a 
green drive till it swept round a distant corner among the 
trees ; straight in front a rough path rose steeply among 
the pillared columns and led into dim dark heights and 
depths beyond. It was soft with pine needles and beech 
nuts, and set thick with traps of sprawling roots. 

He took the path in front, and climbed the hill with a 
new spring in his step, and sniffed the sweet aromatic scent 
of the pines with rare delight. 


14 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Heavenly !” he was saying to himself, when a pine-root, 
lurking beneath the cushiony needles, caught him by the 
foot and jerked his thoughts rudely back to earth. 

And that was why — his eyes being bent to the brae — he 
saw nothing of her till she spoke. 

“At last ! — I began to fear you were never coming !” — a 
sweet full voice, quickened obviously with eager anxiety, 
and when he jerked up, in vast surprise, his eyes lighted on 
a sweet girlish face which seemed to him the very perfect 
embodiment of the voice. 

She had come out from behind the great smooth bole 
of a beech, and stood waiting for him, a slim graceful 
figure in a tailor-made dress, which a brotherly experience 
told him cost a very great deal more than you would have 
imagined ; on her soft brown hair a black lace scarf ; in her 
eyes, which he thought were very dark blue or violet, all 
the feeling of the quick words of her most unexpected 
greeting. 

“Heavens!” said the young man to himself. “What a 
lovely face! Who the deuce does she take me for? I wish 
I was the right man !” 

He had whipped off his cap, and stood facing her in 
silence for a moment. Then he answered her in very ex- 
cellent French. 

“I assure Mademoiselle I came as quickly as possible,” 
he began lightly. “If I had known ” 

“I have been in despair. I thought some misfortune 
must have overtaken you.” 

“What on earth ” began the young man to himself, 

and opened his mouth to ask her what it all meant, but she 
hurried on without giving him the chance of a word. 

“No!” she said, with an imperious gesture. “There is 
no time for talking about that. It is all arranged. She 
is to get out on Friday night” — this was Wednesday — 
“you are to meet her and bring her to the boat you will 


ISLE OF PEACE— STORM 


15 


have waiting. The rest we have to arrange now, and that 
is what I am so anxious about. We could perhaps conceal 
her here for a day or two. I think they will not search 
here for her. They will expect her to go further 
away ” 

More than once he had tried to check the sweet vehe- 
ment flow, and each time she had stopped him with that 
quick impatient little gesture which would take no denial. 
And, truly, she was so amazingly beautiful in her vehe- 
mence that it was with regret that he felt himself bound to 
stop her at any cost. 

“We might go by way of Morat and so by Noirburg 
to Thun, or we could try by Luscherz. What do you 
think?” she rushed on. 

“Mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “I am sorry, but there 
is some mistake ! I tried to stop you, you know. I haven’t 
an idea what you are talking about.” 

A startled look came into her face. 

“Oh !” she cried, and caught at his arm with a fierce little 
grip. “Are you not then Monsieur Bertel ?” and she peer- 
ed into his face with a look of anguished dismay. 

“Not at all. My name is Vemey — Charles Verney — 
attached to the British Embassy in Paris, and very much 
at your service, I assure you, Mademoiselle, if I can be of 
any use to you.” 

“What have I done?” she gasped, and sank back against 
the beech tree, a perfect picture of beauty in distress. 

“You have told me certain things by mistake,” he said 
quietly, “and for your sake, since it distresses you, I regret 
it f For myself — if Mademoiselle should see fit to honour 
me further, I will do all in my power to assist her. If not 
— I am an Englishman, and I give Mademoiselle my word 
to forget all that she has said — at all events never to 
divulge it.” 


16 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“You ought to have told me at once,” she blazed angrily. 
“You had no right to ” 

“But, Mademoiselle, I tried to as soon as I understood 
your mistake. I had not an idea what it was all about.” 

Then her swift anger passed, and only the misery of her 
grievous error remained. She dropped her face into her 
hands, and her slender figure shook with angry sobs, and 
then she plucked a tiny lace handkerchief out of her sleeve, 
and bit it with fierce little white teech to keep the sobs 
from coming out. 

“I am distressed beyond words,” began Verney. “I have 
sisters of my own, you see ” 

The tearful eyes flashed a quick searching glance at his 
face again, and he thought they looked like dark velvet 
pansies after a shower. 

“If Mademoiselle would tell me how I could help her, I 
pledge myself to it, whatever it is,” and the words rang 
truly on her tense-strung nerves. 

“I thank you, sir,” she said, with a fine effort at com- 
posure. “For the moment, please to forget everything. 
For the rest, I must think — and — and — there is so little 
time, and my head is in a whirl.” 

“I will forget till Mademoiselle bids me remember. Per- 
haps two heads could think better than one.” 

“Have you come to stop here?” 

“I came seeking some place off the beaten track where 
I could have a month’s rest. I had never heard of St. 
Peter’s-insel till I tumbled across it in Baedeker this morn- 
ing. I was going on to Evilard.” 

The girl nodded. 

“I must think,” she said briefly. “Perhaps” — and she 
looked doubtfully at him again — “I don’t know. I must 
think,” and she put one small white hand to her brow, as 
though to still the confusion inside. “Please go. The 
house is straight along there.” 


ISLE OF PEACE— STORM 


17 


“I will go, since you bid me, Mademoiselle. But please 
believe me when I assure you once more that I would do 
anything else you would ask of me with still greater pleas- 
ure,” and he bowed with quite un-English grace, and went 
off along the wonderful dim avenue of this newly-enchanted 
isle. 

“What a lovely, lovely girl !” he was chanting to himself, 
though his square-set shoulders and firm step gave no 
slightest hint of the mighty sentimental feeling that was 
dancing in his heart like the sunbeams on the lake over 
there. 

He stopped at one place where a two-hundred-year oak 
had been felled, and looked at it pitifully, and then out 
over the lake at the long line of snowy peaks on the right, 
but he did not once look back at the girl. 

She stood for a time watching him and drying her eyes 
on the tiny lace handkerchief. 

“Oh, the fool that I have made of myself !” and the little 
white teeth ground together in anger. . . . “He 

looks good. ... I wonder, I wonder. . . . ” and 

she turned and went slowly and full of thought into the 
sombre depths of the wood. 


CHAPTER II 

ISLE OF PEACE CALM 

V ERNEY strolled on along the dim forest aisle, car- 
peted here ankle deep with rustling leaves. The 
vistas on each side gleamed russet and green and 
gold and faded into shadowy distances, beyond which, since 
he was now on the heights, he caught the glint of the water 
below. He came at last to a little clearing walled with 
lofty trees, in which stood a pavilion of size, with a cupola 
roof and doors and windows all round it. 

This was so far the only house he had seen; and the 
fiery, tearful girl he had just left, the only, but very 
charming, sign of human occupancy of this delectable isle 
of sleep. 

He wondered if this could be the house of the island and 
she its only tenant. But a glance inside showed him it was 
only a huge summer-house, void of furniture, and evi- 
dently not much used. 

“All the same,” he said to himself, “I would live here 
for a year on the chance of helping that girl.” 

He went on along the broad path, found it a cul-de-sac, 
and turning haphazard into a by-path which seemed to 
lead down-hill, came out at last into an orchard, below 
which lay a long range of red-roofed buildings. 

Very quaint and tempting they looked, as he came down 
past a farmsteading on the one side, all under one great 

18 


ISLE OF PEACE— CALM 


19 


roof, with the sweet smell of cattle and grunting of pigs, 
and a wood-cellar as big as a church, piled high with win- 
ter firing. On the other side a heavy rounded archway 
gave entrance to a quadrangle, and just beyond it a walled 
flower garden stretched along the front of the house. 

He passed along the garden wall to get a better view, 
and stood entranced with it all. 

“It’s just sheer delight!” he said to himself. “And to 
think that nobody seems to know of it !” 

The old grey house, with its background of mellow foli- 
age, its massive walls, its ancient red roof broken by dormer 
windows, its belfry soaring up like a small church spire — 
he learned in due course that the building had originally 
been a monastery — and its weather-beaten green lattices, 
gave him all the feeling of a newly-discovered treasure. 
Perhaps the thought that that lovely girl was living there 
had something to do with it. 

Most of the green lattices were closed. From the win- 
dow-sill of one that was open hung a crimson bathing- 
costume. Hers ? he wondered hopefully. 

It was all delightful beyond expectation. He would see 
what it was like inside. So he opened the latched gate in 
the old stone wall and sought a front entrance. 

But he found all the lower storey given up, as in most 
Swiss houses, to work-rooms — in one a carpenter’s bench, 
in another gardening tools, and so far he had not seen a 
soul but that beautiful girl in the wood. 

Then, as he stood in one of the empty basement rooms, 
a murmur of voices caught his ear, and poking about in 
the semi-darkness he came upon a narrow doorway in the 
side-wall, and climbing a steep flight of steps found him- 
self in a kitchen hung with gleaming pots and pans, and in 
the presence of a couple of busy women, who viewed him 
with good-humoured surprise. 

He told them he wanted a room, and was promptly led 


20 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


up a few more steps into a wooden cloister which surround- 
ed the open quadrangle. His guide tugged at the handle 
of a great bell which hung above his head, and went back 
to her kitchen. A huge yellow and white St. Bernard 
uncoiled himself leisurely from underneath a table and 
lounged towards him with lazy curiosity in his deep red 
eyes. A pleasant-faced girl came tripping down a broad 
wooden staircase and greeted him with a welcoming smile. 

“Don’t touch him !” she said in German, as the young 
man offered his hand to the monster for inspection. “He 
is wicked with strangers. Barri, lie down ! Lie down, I 
tell you !” and she emphasised the order with an imperative 
stamp of the foot. Barri, undismayed, completed his leis- 
urely inspection, snuffled, and coiled himself up under the 
table to think it over. 

“I want a room for a few days,” said Vemey. “My 
bag and coat are at the landing-place. Perhaps you can 
send for them. And what time is supper?” 

The girl led him up the wooden staircase to a wide 
wooden gallery, opened the door of a room and flung open 
the green lattice, told him the dining-room was at the end 
of the gallery, supper was at seven, and she would send a 
boy for his things. 

The room itself, with its comfortable-looking bed, its 
ancient panelling and white-scrubbed floor all worm-eaten 
and bitten into strange fantastic patterns, its antiquated 
chairs and great carved table, was all in keeping with the 
rest and all like treasure-trove to him. 

He went over to the window and leaned out enjoy ably. 
In front stretched the placid green lake, beyond on his 
right were the white peaks of the distant Alps again, 
from the sill of the next window hung the crimson bathing 
costume. 

“I wouldn’t mind stopping here for a year,” he said to 
himself once more. 


ISLE OF PEACE— CALM 


21 


Out on the lake a boat — or was it a great water-beetle 
— was crawling slowly across to the western shore, leaving 
in its wake a half-mile fan of widening ripples like the 
tail of a watery comet. 

He wondered when he would see the girl of the wood 
again. At supper-time, in any case, he supposed. He 
wondered if she would have made up her mind to let him 
help her ; and he wondered much what her trouble could be. 

He strolled about the rambling old house with great 
enjoyment, poked into some disused rooms piled with 
lumber, and discovered faded monkish frescoes on the 
plaster, and grotesque wood carvings and ancient chests 
black with age. He delved into great cellars under another 
heavy archway, and came on mighty cider-presses, and 
barrels the size of small rooms. He wandered about the 
farm orchard, and finally off along the side of a vineyard 
towards a row of stately poplars which rose out of a 
clump of trees by the lake side. 

Here he found another landing-place and a small har- 
bour full of boats, and as he stood, planning cool, delicious, 
early morning bathes off the end of the wooden jetty, and 
delightful moonlight excursions on the water, he saw a 
boat coming slowly across the lake and making for the 
island. 

As it drew nearer his interest shot lip suddenly to boil- 
ing-point. For the rower was slim of figure, and the 
crown of fair hair above identified her as the girl he had 
left tearful and anxious in the wood. From the slowness 
of her strokes, and the slight pause at the end of each, he 
saw that she was tired out. He wondered if she had found 
a way through her difficulties, whatever they were, and he 
wished much that she would afford him the opportunity of 
helping her. 

The girl steered evidently by some landmark astern, for 
she came straight for the little harbour and never once 


22 THE HIGH ADVENTURE 

turned her head till she was almost in it. Then, glancing 
over her shoulder to mark her landing-place, she saw him 
coming down the sloping bank to give her a hand ashore. 

She loosed her oars as the overhanging prow ran up the 
shingle, and stood up and lifted her black lace scarf from 
her shoulders on to her head, and it was a revelation to 
him that so simple a thing should add such dignity to so 
slight a figure. 

He was glad to see, too, that she had quite recovered her 
equanimity. The sweet face was composed, even a trifle 
set in its purposeful firmness, but she looked very weary as 
she drew off the leather gloves she had worn for protection 
from the oars, and laid one white hand gently in his and 
stepped ashore, with a quiet, “ Merci , Monsieur!” 

“I’m afraid you have over-tired yourself,” said Verney, 
with genuine concern. “Now that is a thing I would gladly 
have done for you, if you had told me to.” 

There was almost a whimsical look in the tired face as 
she glanced up at him, and said. “I could not then. Now, 
— it is different.” 

Verney shook his head. “I’m no good at ptizzles. You 
are one vast enigma, Mademoiselle. What have I done in 
the meantime to earn your better opinion?” 

“Nothing. It is what I have done myself, but I could 
hardly have asked your assistance.” 

The young man wagged his head hopelessly again. “I 
give it up.” 

“But you would still help me ?” she asked quickly. 

“To the utmost extent in my power. Only tell me how.” 

“After supper then, for I am tired now. Meet me here, 
M. Verney, at half-past eight, and you shall take me for a 
little row in the moonlight, and T will tell you then how you 
can, perhaps, help me.” 


ISLE OF PEACE— CALM 


23 

“ I am grateful to you for your confidence, Mademoiselle. 
Shall I walk up with you?” 

“Please no. If you will go that way, I will go this. We 
shall meet at supper.” 

“And afterwards ! — I thank you !” 


CHAPTER III 

GLAMOUR 

W HEN Verney strolled into the salon he found the 
other guests already seated at table, and, pending 
the arrival of more substantial fare, all chatting 
together in that quasi-friendly fashion which differentiates 
the continental from the British public table, by accepting 
even a stranger as possible until he is proved the reverse. 

The room was large, with ancient panelling similar to 
that in his bed-room. There were windows looking out 
over the darkening lake, and windows at the end through 
which still glimmered the soft saffron and crimson of the 
lingering sunset. 

The red-shaded lamps and great bowls of red and yellow 
roses on the table gave him a supreme sense of homely com- 
fort, the comprehensive bow with which he took his seat 
was responded to by every one with courteous particular- 
ity, and once more he said to himself, “I have fallen well !” 

Fallen most delightfully, too, he discovered, as to his 
position at table, for Mademoiselle sat exactly opposite 
him, and the great bowls of roses were placed with mathe- 
matical precision above and below her, with a shaded lamp 
between. And the chastened glow of the lamp lit up the 
beautiful face and the roses with a soft radiance, outside 
which, like a massive frame, was the outer darkness of the 
room and the rest of the company. 

Next to Mademoiselle, however, was an elderly lady with 

24 


GLAMOUR 


25 


snow-white hair, and a pleasant, smiling face, and supper 
was barely started when she looked smilingly across at Ver- 
ney, and said, in English, “They told me there was some 
one arrived who spoke English. It would give me such 
pleasure to hear and speak it again.” 

“It is very curious how an Englishman is always known 
even before he opens his mouth,” said the young man, with 
a smile and a bow. “I have not spoken a word of English 
since I arrived, and yet, you see, I am labelled Englishman 
at a glance.” 

“One recognises an Englishman, no matter how well he 
speaks another tongue,” smiled the old lady. “But you, 
Monsieur, — you are very English to look at.” 

“And yet I have lived very many years abroad, and 
French and German are almost as natural to me as my 
own tongue.” 

“All the same you are, I should say, typically English, 
and, truly, for myself I prefer the English type,” said the 
old lady with a decided nod. “Oh, you need not fear” — as 
he shot a deprecating glance along the table, — “they none 
of them understand except my niece here” — indicating 
Mademoiselle. “And in what countries has your lot been 
cast, Monsieur, if it is not indiscreet to ask?” 

“I was in Stockholm for a time, then in St. Petersburg, 
then Berlin, now Paris. 

“And you do not prefer Berlin to all the others?” 

“I do not,” — so emphatically that the old lady laughed 
out with enjoyment. 

“And Petersburg?” 

“It is well enough at times, but ” 

“Yes,” she nodded, “but— there is always the shadow 
behind.” 

“Exactly ! There is always the shadow behind. But I 
must compliment Madame on her unusually good English. 


916 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


Surely, it was not acquired anywhere but in England 
itself.” 

“I lived there for many years, and I love the English 
and their ways — except their climate, which is detestable. 
The fogs ! And the mud-snow ! Here, if we do have a fog, 
at times, it is at all events white, and our snow is snow, and 
it also is white.” 

“Yes, I’m afraid you beat us in little details such as 
that, but we have to put up with such things as best we 
can.” 

“You are attached to the Embassy in Paris, I under- 
stand” — from which he perceived that Mademoiselle had 
discussed him with the old lady. 

“I am by way of becoming a diplomat,” he bowed. “It 
is a long road, but not altogether unamusing.” 

“I had many good friends in Paris, but it is years since 
I was there. I wonder if we possess any in common — the 
de Montessones, the d’Auriacs, the d’Aubignes ” 

“I know them all, more or less, of course. But Mme. 
d’Auriac is a very dear old friend of mine. It is very pleas- 
ant to think that you know her too,” and though he was 
looking straight at the old lady, so great was his interest 
in Mademoiselle that he got the impression of something 
almost akin to a fleeting smile on the sweet preoccupied 
face, and wondered why. 

They remained chatting together after the rest of the 
company had drifted away. It was not until Marthe had 
cleared all the rest of the table, and began to hover about 
them with a meaning air, that Madame rose. 

“ Allons !” she said, with a satisfied little laugh. “We 
are keeping little Marthe out of her bed. If we do not 
move she will be wrapping us up with the tablecloth and 
putting us away in the press. You will find one of the 
most charming places for an after-supper cigar down by 
the lake-side among the poplars over there, M. Vemey.” 


GLAMOUR 


n 

“I will go and try it,” he bowed, and went first to his 
room to change his dinner-jacket for something thicker, 
and took his coat over his arm as well, for the dew was 
almost as wetting as rain, and then sauntered off in the 
best of spirits and all agog with curiosity, to keep his 
appointment with Mademoiselle. 


CHAPTER IV 


MADEMOISELLE EXPLAINS 

H E had been there but a few minutes, leaning against 
the rail of the little pier, and watching the play of 
the young moonbeams in the ripples of the black 
water, when Mademoiselle came through the shadowy grove 
towards the boats. 

He flung his cigar into the lake and sprang lightly down 
to join her. She was wrapped in a long cloak, and her 
face glimmered, pale and determined, in the shadow of 
the hood, with a haunting sweetness. 

He threw his coat over the back seat of the lightest of 
the odd little craft and handed her in, then hauled out by 
means of the neighbouring boats and poised the pinned 
oars. 

“Which way?” he asked. “Any choice?” 

“Up this way, please,” she nodded, and the boat shot 
silently off towards the distant foot of the lake. 

He had rowed for a good ten minutes, till even the top- 
most pines on the summit of the island looked in the mystic 
moonlight very far away, before she spoke. 

“Now, if you will light a cigar, I will tell you, and you 
shall help me if you will.” 

“I most certainly will if I can.” 

“And let me tell you first that I am not in the habit of 
confiding in strangers. I took you for some one else this 
morning. I had been awaiting him in very great anxiety, 
and when you came I made sure you were he, and — well, 

that was why I made such a fool of myself ” 

28 


MADEMOISELLE EXPLAINS 


29 


“I am grateful to him for not coming. I shall consider 
myself his debtor for life.” 

“Why he has not come, I do not understand. However 
— you are good enough to offer me assistance, and I cannot 
afford to dispense with it, as matters stand. It is a very 
serious matter, M. Vemey, and — and ” she hesitated. 

“Don’t tell me a thing more than you think advisable, 
Mademoiselle. Just tell me what you want done, and I 
will do it to the best of my power.” 

“It is not that. I could not let you help me unless you 
understood the whole matter. But — yes — I am afraid 
I must confess, or you will think I speak too freely to a 
stranger — a comparative stranger ” 

“Let us say a new friend.” 

“I thank you. Do you know why I went across to 
Ligerz this afternoon?” 

“To work off the annoyance I had caused you?” 

“Something very much more to the point. In this mat- 
ter I am nothing. All my thoughts are for another. An- 
noyance, trouble, suffering for myself are of no account. 
No! — Don’t be angry with me, M. Verney! It seemed to 
me that, in default of the help that was promised me but 
which had failed me, I might have to fall back on the as- 
sistance you offered. I did not know you or anything 
about you. But you had given me your name and stand- 
ing. I went across to Ligerz and telegraphed to the Coun- 
tess d’Auriac in Paris asking if she knew you, and if I 
could place implicit confidence in you in a matter of very 
grave importance. You are not angry with me?” 

“On the contrary, Mademoiselle. You did just what I 
would probably have done myself under the circum- 
stances,” and he wondered more than ever what the cir- 
cumstances could be which called for such precaution. 

“Then now we know how we stand, and I will tell you. 
You served for a time in Petersburg ” 


30 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“A couple of years.” 

“Did you ever meet General Pesthel ?” 

“I have met him, but I had no acquaintance with him.” 

“You know the kind of man he was.” 

“I have heard.” 

“He was the wickedest man ever made” — and the sweet 
voice was charged with feeling so intense that it became 
little better than a hiss. “He was base, cruel, heartless. 
Why are such men allowed . . . Some men are not 

men, they are fiends, and he was one” — and Verney began 
to get a glimmering idea of what might be coming. He 
had heard a good deal about Pesthel, and remembered his 
sudden end. 

“We are Beresovs of Viborg” — she stopped, and he 
could see her eyes gleaming at him out of the darkness of 
her hood. He nodded with partial understanding, and 
would have begged her to spare herself the painful story, 
but she stayed him with that imperious little gesture which 
would take no denial. 

“I want your help. You must hear. Pesthel wanted 
my sister Darya. She detested him. He pursued her. She 
fled, and he vented his spite on those who were left. My 
father died in prison, innocent of any wrong. You know 
how easily wickedness in high places can manage a little 
thing like that in Russia. My mother died broken-hearted. 
My brother is in Siberia. My aunt, whom you met at din- 
ner, took me under her wing. She is the Princess Galtzine, 
but here she has . always been known only as the Countess 
di Garda. Darya waited her chance. She was driven half 
crazy with it all. She shot Pesthel at Geneva — you re- 
member !” 

“He deserved it,” said the young man quietly. 

“Surely ! He deserved a hundred such deaths. One was 
small punishment for all the ill he had wrought. Well — 
Darya was condemned to perpetual imprisonment. She 


MADEMOISELLE EXPLAINS 


31 


is here in the prison at Ste. Julienne. It must be killing 
her. Our beautiful Darya behind prison-bars ! Why it 
almost kills me even to think of it. For more than a year 
I have been working to get her free. We exhausted every 
legitimate method, but the authorities dare not let her go. 
Then, at last, we got into touch with one of the women 
warders through one of our people. If Darya gets clear 
the woman will be rich for life, for my aunt has plenty; 
and the money is nothing, but Darya is everything to us 
both. But we needed assistance to get her of. A girl can- 
not do everything. The Countess d’Auriac is one of my 
aunt’s oldest friends. We confided in her, for she knows 
and loves Darya, and she promised to provide the assist- 
ance we sought. He was to have arrived yesterday or 
to-day. When I saw you I took you for the M. Bertel 
whom the Countess was sending. Now, you understand it 
all?” 

“I understand and sympathise deeply, Mademoi- 
selle ” 

“And you will still help us ?” 

“To the very last ounce that is in me!” 

“I thank you !” and a little white hand shot out impul- 
sively towards him. He took it gently in his, and bent and 
kissed it. 

“You have never told me your own name,” he said. 

I am Sonia Soma Mikhailovna. But I am nothing. 
It is Darya we have to think of.” 

“How is she to get out of the prison? It is for Friday 
night, I remember. You told me in the wood.” 

“The warder is to arrange that. She will lose her 
place, of course, but that will not matter to her. She is to 
get Darya out just before midnight on Friday. We are 

to have a boat waiting for her over there, below Jolimont 

the rest we have to provide for.” 


32 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“And what are your ideas? Let us consider the matter 
in all its bearings.” 

“They will not discover that she has gone before the 
morning. We shall have eight hours in which to get away. 
They will telegraph to the police in all the large towns, so 
we must get across country by unknown ways.” 

“Where is it your idea to get to?” 

“To England eventually, of course, and they will guess 
that.” The back of Verney’s brain suggested to him that 
even Britain might be no safe asylum for Darya, if she 
were discovered there and her extradition claimed, but he 
would not have hinted it for the world. 

“We cannot cross the Jura, for they will be on the look- 
out there. I think we must get through to Italy or Savoy. 
But first we will go to Unterhofen, for you see ” 

“Exactly where is Unterhofen — so that I may follow 
out your ideas?” 

“Unterhofen? On the Thuner See — over there!” and 
the small white hand pointed over his shoulder towards the 
south-east. “It is a not-much-frequented country that lies 
between — plains and rivers and hills, and we must keep 
away from the roads and use the bridle-paths, and that is 
why I want a man’s help. I do not know what the difficul- 
ties may be, but we have got to surmount them.” 

“And Unterhofen, when we get there?” 

“Then we shall be all right, for a time at all events, 
and, you see, Darya may need a little time to pull round. 
I hardly dare to think what effect two years of prison may 
have had on her.” 

“And at Unterhofen? I just want to get everything 
clear in my mind. Why do you feel so certain of being all 
safe there? Might they not ” 

“I go too quick. I forgot you did not know all that. 
My aunt has taken the Chateau there for six months. We 
have had it often before. She is fortunately known there 


MADEMOISELLE EXPLAINS 


33 


also only as the Countess di Garda. Because, you see, if 
Darya Beresov escape, and her aunt the Princess Galtzine 
was at Unterhofen that is the very first place they would 
look for her.” 

“That is well thought of.” 

“It is a very curious old place, right on the water. You 
can get to it by boat and no one in the village know any- 
thing about it. She has her own old servants there, and we 
can trust them completely.” 

“I see. And all that is, I think, quite feasible. I don’t 
see any reason why we can’t manage it all right.” 

“It is so good to hear you say so. A word of hope is 
very comforting, and it is so good to have some one to help. 
A girl alone feels so useless.” 

“I think you have done splendidly. Now you must let 
me take the burden off your hands. Have you made any 
further plans for Friday night?” 

“My aunt and I leave here to-morrow, ostensibly for 
Paris. But she will go by Bienne to Bern and Unterhofen, 
and I shall wait at Twann, just across there, to be ready 
to go to meet Darya on Friday night. I shall want you to 
pick me up there at such time as we may arrange, and then 
we will go and find Darya, and before the morning we must 
be far away among the hills, without leaving any trace of 
the way we have gone.” 

“We’ll do it. What time do you start to-morrow?” 

“After breakfast — dinner, as they call it here — about 
three o’clock.” 

“I shall have the chance of another word or two with 
you when I have thought out my own plans?” 

“I think the less we are seen together by the people here 
the better. There may be inquiries made, you see. . . . 

But . . . you remember the place where I first met 

you ?” 

“I shall never forget it.” 


34 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“There is a path runs to the left by the side of the island 
wall. If you go along it you will come to a break in the 
wall where a narrow path runs through the new young 
trees towards the lake. If you follow it you will come to 
a seat by the lake side. It is my favourite seat, for it 
looks out towards Darya. I will go there by another way 
first thing after early breakfast.” 

“I will be there. Do you know the country between here 
and Unterhofen?” 

“I don’t know it at all, but in any case we must avoid 
the roads as much as possible.” 

“I must get hold of a large-scale map, if I can. And — 
yes — I see lots of things to be thought out. A boat to go 
down to Jolimont in for your sister, and then to make it 
vanish, or it might furnish a clue. Disguises of some kind 
for you both. Have you thought that out at all?” 

“I thought of getting a dress of some kind for Darya, 
of course.” 

“I think we must go further than that. However, I’ll 
think it all out and make notes of everything, and give 
you my ideas in the morning.” 

“You are very good to take so much trouble for a 
stranger.” 

“Don’t call me that! Your confidence in me has made 
me feel like an old friend.” 

“I thank you with all my heart. Now, please take me 
in.” 

“Do you know the way? It’s as dark as pitch to me 
since the moon went in.” 

“Straight ahead. I will tell you when we are near.” 


CHAPTER V 


PLANNING THE VENTURE 

V ERNEY spent half the night, with quite novel en- 
joyment, planning to its smallest detail all that had 
to be done, so far as he could foresee it. 

More than once he heard some one moving about in the 
next room, for several bedrooms thereabouts had been 
made out of one large apartment, though, by the state of 
the panelling, he judged it was very many years before. 
And once he heard the window quietly opened wide, as his 
own was, and so he judged that Mademoiselle was as little 
inclined for sleep as himself. 

Six o’clock next morning found him pulling merrily 
across the lake through swathes of low-lying mist towards 
Ligerz on the western shore, just as the men of the farm 
were turning out with their scythes and a great ox-wagon 
to cut fresh grass for the cows in the stalls. They gave 
him “Guten Morgen!” and stood looking after him, and 
wondering audibly why any man who could stop in his 
bed should want to be up and about at that time of day. 

He found rowing through the mist an odd sensation. He 
could see nothing ten feet beyond the boat, and felt as if 
he were travelling through a cloud. However, he knew 
the village lay straight across from the island, so he steer- 
ed as best he could by his own wake, and trusted to luck 
to get there some time. 

When at last his long prow ran up a rough shore, he 
jumped out and stood hesitating which way to turn. He 

35 


36 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


decided on the left, and pushed on till he came to the vil- 
lage. 

The postmaster was up and doing. Vemey handed him 
a telegram of which even his peasant curiosity could make 
neither head nor tail, and went cheerfully back to find his 
boat. 

The sun was well up before he was under way again, and 
the mist was thinning and rolling up from the lake, though 
it still clung tenaciously among the vineyards along the 
hill sides. 

Halfway across he stripped and plunged in and found 
the water bracingly cold. He rowed himself dry and warm, 
and presently astonished the little maid, Marthe, by the 
rosiness of his complexion and his appetite for hot coffee 
and crisp rolls and honey. 

She said, in the kitchen, “The Englishman has had noth- 
ing to eat for three weeks, and yet I thought he made a 
good supper. And his face! it is like the sun coming up 
through the mist.” But then she did not know how he had 
been enjoying himself all night, and how much he had 
done that morning. 

When he had finished astonishing Marthe he strolled up 
the hill behind the house, retraced his steps of yesterday, 
found the tree of trees from behind which Mademoiselle 
had burst upon him, recalled her every word and look, and 
then went on down the slope and along the wall, till he 
came to the breach and the footpath. 

He found the seat looking out over the lake towards 
Darya, and lit a cigar, and waited, more than satisfied 
with all that lay before him. 

The sun shone brilliantly now, and sprinkled the mirror 
of the lake with glancing ripples. The young trees all 
about him were draped in a thousand tender tones of green 
and orange and brown. The hill of Jolimont still looked 


PLANNING THE VENTURE 


37 

all sombre green, and the red roofs of Erlach glowed again 
among their vineyards like poppies in the corn. 

Across the lake, where he had been that morning, a 
school-bell was ringing mellowly, and he could hear the 
voices of the children at play. 

Then a dry stick snapped in the underwood behind him, 
and Mademoiselle came quickly along the narrow path. 

“You were surely out very early,” was her greeting. 
“I thought you were perhaps going for a bathe, but you 
were away too long for that.” 

“Yes, I went to send off a telegram. Some time to-night 
I shall get another recalling me at once to Paris” — she 
looked quickly at him — “I shall leave to-morrow morning” 
— she looked startled and anxious — “and shall go up to 
Bienne. They will find the telegram on my table after I 
am gone, and that will account for me all right. You will 
be accounted for because you will have left with Mine, di 
Garda. So if inquiries are made as to any suspicious char- 
acters who may have been loitering in the neighbourhood 
lately, we, at all events, ought to pass unsuspected.” 

“You gave me a fright for a moment.” 

“And I have been treasuring the thought that you trust- 
ed me implicitly,” he said reproachfully. 

“Oh, I do, I do. But I suppose I am getting nervous 
as the time draws near. I could not sleep for thinking of 
a hundred things that might miscarry and spoil every- 
thing.” 

“I’ll see that nothing miscarries if only your wardress 
comes up to time.” 

“You give me hope again, and make me feel strong.” 

“Now here is what I have been thinking. We w T ant a 
boat, and when we’ve done with it, it must be sunk. We 
cannot hire one and destroy it. We don’t want to steal 
one. I shall buy a second-hand one at Bienne, then we 
can do what we like with it. That’s one item settled. Next 


38 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


— now, please don’t revolt at this ! — If you will consider 
it for a moment I think you will see I am right. Your 
sister must have a disguise of some kind. If a hue and cry 
is sent round, all the country will be on the look-out for a 
young lady who has escaped from Ste. Julienne. My sug- 
gestion is that no young ladies at all try to make their 
way from here to Unterhofen, but that a young professor 
with two of his pupils might very well do so without excit- 
ing the slightest comment.” 

“You mean?” she said, with a glance that was half 
doubt and half amusement, and yet all quick comprehen- 
sion. 

“Exactly! That you two should be dressed as boys. 
In every way you would find it an advantage. I will see 
to it all — with those big round-about cloaks slung round 
you ” 

“If there are cloaks ” she murmured, with a delicious 

colour in her face and dancing lights in her eyes. And 
then: “What about our hair? Darya’s came down to her 
knees. You won’t want us to cut it off?” 

“Good heavens, no ! You can coil it up on top, and the 
hats I will get you — those soft cloth things, you know — 
will hide it completely. I will get two complete rigs and 
riicksacs, and sticks, and stout shoes. What size?” 

“Three!” she gasped, at this business-like inquisition. 

“Darya the same? Here, let me measure,” and he pulled 
out a piece of string and bent down to her foot and knotted 
the cord. 

“I will also get the best map obtainable of the country 
between here and Unterhofen, and, oh well, there are heaps 
of other little details, but I don’t need to trouble you with 
them.” 

“Nothing very ” she began. 

“Nothing at all outrageous, I assure you. The only 
other thing is where I am to find you to-morrow night, and 


PLANNING THE VENTURE 


39 


what time? I shall row down from Bienne in the boat — 
and bring my parcels with me,” he said with a smile. “ I 
can pick you up wherever and whenever you please.” 

“I shall go up to Bienne with my aunt, and we rest 
there to-night. I shall come back to Twann to-morrow 
and spend the time up the Twannberg, so that I may not 
be noticed loitering about the village. If you can be off 
Twann landing-place at ten o’clock we can pull quietly 
down the lake and talk over any further arrangements.” 

“Will you get supper, or shall I bring some provisions ?” 

“I will get supper, up at the Kurhaus, but it might be 
well to bring something. We might be glad of it early in 
the morning.” 

“I will see to it all.” 

“Will you . . . will you let me provide the money, 

M. Verney?” she asked hesitatingly. 

“Please don’t trouble about that. I never enjoyed 
spending money so much in all my life before.” 

“You are very, very good to me,” she said quietly, “and 
it is a great load off my heart to have your help.” 


CHAPTER VI 


EN GAR9ON 

N O one on the island would have imagined, from the 
very formal expressions of regret with which the 
Englishman received the news at dinner, that Mad- 
ame and Mademoiselle were leaving that very afternoon, 
that there existed between them anything but the most 
casual acquaintance. 

“ Herr gott !” said Marthe in the kitchen. “They are 
cold-bloods, those Englishmen, though you wouldn’t think 
it to look at their faces. To think that he could sit oppo- 
site to her at table for two whole meals and feel not the 
slightest sorrow at her going so soon. However, he’ll feel 
the difference when she’s not here — at least he would if he 
were not a cold-blooded Englishman.” 

But, to Marthe’s great disappointment — both on her 
own account, because she liked the look of the Englishman, 
in spite of his healthy appetite and cold blood ; and on his 
account, in that he deserved to suffer for his insensibility 
to Mademoiselle’s beauty, for which reason she placed him 
at supper opposite the ugliest stout old lady in the com- 
pany — that very evening there came a boy from Ligerz in 
a boat with a telegram for M. Verney, at which he ex- 
pressed the greatest annoyance and disappointment, and 
presently it leaked out that he was suddenly recalled to 
Paris on affairs of importance. 

And Marthe knew that was so, because she found the 
telegram on his mantelpiece next morning after he left, and 
Fraulein Sophie, who could read English, had read it to 
her. 


40 


EN GARgON 


41 


But if, to the watchful eye, the Englishman showed 
himself quite unworthy of Marthe’s original solicitude in 
placing him opposite the most beautiful girl they had seen 
on St. Peter’s for many a day, he himself found the island 
suddenly bare and desolate without her. 

The company at supper that night struck him as un- 
usually commonplace. The red-shaded lamps and bowls 
of roses were no longer adjuncts of fairyland, but the most 
ordinary of table decorations. Barri, the big St. Bernard, 
was a nuisance with his pressing attentions. Yesterday — 
ay, even this very morning — it was golden autumn, all 
aglow still with the warmth and joy of summer. Now it 
was autumn in very truth, with chill suggestions of coming 
winter. 

The wind sang mournful cadences among the giant trees 
on the hill, and the golden-brown carpet of leaves in the 
long walk whispered sharp little forebodings, when he 
strolled along after supper to the great beech from behind 
which she had sprung upon him that first day. 

That first day! Was it possible — he said to himself — 
that that first day was only yesterday? Was it possible? 

Why, he seemed to have known her for a length of time 
that no ordinary measurement could span. He certainly 
knew her better than he knew people he had been meeting 
for years. And — yes — he could not conceal from himself 
that he would like to know her better still. 

He rowed himself across to Ligerz next morning, with 
a boy from the farm to bring back the boat, and took the 
first train to Bienne. There he engaged a room for the 
day at the hotel near the station, explaining that he would 
be leaving again that same night. And then he went out 
shopping and enjoyed himself extensively. 


42 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


He bought a full-sized riicksac and two smaller ones, and 
at the best outfitter’s shop in the town he spent much 
time in the purchase of complete outfits for two mythical 
nephews at boarding-school in Morat. And, from the dis- 
criminating care with which those outfits were selected, 
the young gentlemen were evidently difficult to please and 
not easily suited. 

However, the generous uncle made no trouble about 
prices so long as he got what he wanted, and the sales- 
man judged him of a pleasant and genial disposition, and 
wondered now and again if it could be the cut of the 
clothes which caused those irrepressible little smiles to 
twitch in the corners of his mouth, as he worked through 
the items on his list. 

At the shoemaker’s, two pairs of stout little walking- 
shoes, size as per piece of knotted string, left the impres- 
sion that the young gentlemen were not built on the same 
generous lines as their stalwart uncle, and were probably 
of delicate constitution, from the solicitude with which he 
attended to them being fitted with the softest inner soles 
procurable. 

Two light six-foot climbing poles shod with iron spikes, 
the best large-scale maps of the district obtainable, a small 
lantern fitted with a spring-candle, and a supply of good 
cigars, completed the good uncle’s purchases for the mo- 
ment. But late in the afternoon, after an arduous course 
of map-study in his room, he strolled down to the boat- 
builder’s yard near the bathing-place, and without undue 
bargaining became the owner of a very second-hand boat 
and a pair of light sculls, quite good enough, as he ex- 
plained, for a pair of frolicsome youngsters living at 
Neuveville at the other end of the lake, whither he pur- 
posed taking it himself that same evening. And, in order 
to incommode the boat-builder as little as possible, he would 


EN GARgON 


43 


take it away at once and leave it in charge of a boatman 
on the Twann road till he was ready to start. 

At the hotel he spent a busy hour packing his own rilck- 
sac with necessaries from his portmanteau, and dividing 
the boys’ things into two complete sets, one of which he 
stowed away in the two smaller riicksacs, and the other he 
made into a parcel, which was not nearly as neatly fin- 
ished off as the shopman would have done it. 

After supper he settled his small account, left his port- 
manteau in charge of the landlord until he should send for 
it, got a small boy to assist him with his parcels, and soon 
after nine o’clock was sculling quietly down the lake 
towards Twann. 

The village was mostly asleep as he pulled slowly past 
it, only an occasional light suggesting watchers by bed- 
sides or the modest joviality of the cafe. He had left the 
last house behind, and was considering the advisability of 
turning, when a soft whistle along the road, like the cheep 
of a disturbed bird, drew him that way, and presently he 
made out a small dark figure on the white rocks of the 
shore. He ran the overhanging prow inshore. Mademoi- 
selle stepped lightly on board, and he turned and pulled 
out into the lake. 

“All well?” he asked. 

“All well ! Have you managed everything you wanted ?” 

“Everything — to the last shoe-lace.” 

“And you got those cloaks ?” with a touch of anxiety. 

“You are sitting on them. Now, I have been thinking. 
When your sister comes, every moment will be of conse- 
quence. May I suggest that you should change into a boy 
before we meet her? Then you can ” 

“But where — how?” with a breathless little catch in her 
voice. 

“I thought you might think of some place — or I could 
put you ashore on St. Peter’s, by that favourite seat of 


44 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


yours. I have brought a small lantern, so that you can see 
what you are doing. And as soon as your sister comes you 
can help her, you see.” 

“Wait! Let me think!” — and presently — “if you will 
pull down towards Neuveville there are some nice-looking 
little arbours and summer-houses overhanging the water. 
Perhaps one of those would do — if we can get inside.” 

“First-rate ! We’ll get inside all right !” and he pulled 
along towards Neuveville, skirting close to the shore. 

“This will do,” said Mademoiselle, as a massive little 
stone-built house, trellised with creepers and overhung 
by weeping willows, loomed up before them. 

He ran alongside the stone steps and climbed up into the 
arbour to investigate. 

“All right. Nice and dry, and the door is closed on that 
side. Couldn’t be better.” 

He handed her ashore, and passed up the larger parcel, 
and the lamp and matches. 

“Think you can manage? I’ll pull off a bit along the 
shore. Whistle if you need me. And don’t forget to bring 
the lamp away with you. Your sister will need it.” 

“What shall I do with my own things ?” she asked some- 
what nervously, and with an almost irrepressible desire to 
break into laughter. 

“I’m afraid we must sacrifice them. Wait a moment, 
and I’ll bring you some big stones. Then make them into 
a tight bundle with the stones inside, and w'e’ll drop 
them overboard as we go.” 

And so presently he was well out of sight down the lake, 
and whenever his eye rested on the distant tiny glow in the 
arbour, his mouth twitched humorously in the corners 
again, as he wondered if she would find any difficulty in 
the details of her transformation. 

It seemed to him an incredibly long time before she sum- 
moned him, 


EN GARgON 


45 


“Got the lamp?” he asked, as the little cloak-muffled 
figure appeared on the steps. 

“Here.” 

“And your other things?” 

“Here,” and Verney would dearly have liked to keep the 
bundle she handed him. 

“And you’re sure you have left nothing lying about?” 

“Quite sure. I looked carefully all round,” and she 
stepped lightly into the boat and he pulled away. 

“You are quite sure you have had some supper?” he 
asked lightly, to cover her natural confusion. 

“Quite sure, thank you.” 

“And you found everything you needed? You man- 
aged all right?” 

“I think so,” she murmured, with that hysterical desire 
towards laughter again, and drew the other cloak protect- 
ingly over her knees. 

He would have rejoiced in a moon, so that he could see 
how she looked as a boy. But the moon had gone down, 
and for their enterprise it was better so. 

All he could see was the loom of the little round hat 
pushed well back on her head, and of the slim cloaked fig- 
ure huddled up on the back seat. 

“I hope the shoes are comfortable, and everything else 
to your liking. For cross-country work comfortable shoes 
are of the first importance.” 

“They feel clumsy at present, but they are quite easy. 
I shall get used to them. What will you do with the boat?” 

“Sink it when we’ve done with it. And these things” — 
handling the heavy bundle of her clothes — “it seems like 
desecration to throw them into the water, but I don’t see 
how we could carry them.” 

“What nonsense ! I’ve got plenty more at Unterhofen. 
Drop them overboard at once, please,” and reluctantly he 


46 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


let them slip down into the darkness below, and pulled on 
in silence. 

“It is very very good of you to do so much for me, Mr. 
Vemey. . . . I’m afraid I am very selfish in the 

matter.” 

“Not a bit of it. It’s just splendid of you to let me 
help you.” 

“I have been thinking all day up on the Twannberg 
there. Supposing we should be caught, it might be very 
unpleasant for you. It might ruin you ” 

“But we’re not going to be caught, and the very remote 
prospect of consequences does not trouble me in the slight- 
est, I assure you. We shall get through all right, you’ll 
see, and you will be happy all your life in having done so 
good a deed.” 

“Oh, I hope so ! I hope so ! 
have done it all alone.” 


I could never 


CHAPTER VII 


OUT OF THE CAGE 

A SILENCE fell upon them as they drew near to the 
time and place upon which their hopes were cen- 
tred. 

Mademoiselle was gripping the sides of the boat so 
tightly that her fingers felt like bits of bent wood. Her 
heart was jumping uncomfortably up towards her throat 
and felt like to choke her. And even Verney’s heart was 
pounding in a quite unusual fashion as he felt at last the 
current of the Thielle flowing in from the lake of Neu- 
chatel, and he turned at once and pulled up the stream. 

Suppose Darya was not there ! Suppose something had 
gone wrong! Suppose — he ground his teeth on foolish 
suppositions and pulled slowly on, soundless as a shadow, 
with his eyes boring into the darknesses of the right-hand 
bank. 

A choke — something between a sob and a gasp — from 
Mademoiselle, and a pull of the oar swung them in under 
the bank. And surely, he thought, it was the eye of love 
that discerned them there, for he could see no sign of them 
till they touched the land. 

Then a light figure, swathed in darkness, stepped into 
the boat, right into Mademoiselle’s arms, it seemed to him, 
and lay there for a moment while two overcharged hearts 
panted for utterance. 

But the success of her mission braced Sonia to the needs 
of the moment. She placed her sister gently in the stem, 
and turned again to the second dark figure on the river 
bank. 


47 


48 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Our most grateful thanks !” Verney heard her whis- 
per. “Here is the money. You will get away?” 

“They will never see me again, Fraulein. You may 
make yourself certain of that.” 

“Adieu, then ! And all safety to you !” 

“And to you both, Frauleine !” 

“Now, please!” she whispered urgently to Verney, and 
he bent to his oars and sent the light boat speeding up the 
river towards the Neuenburger See. 

Dark as it was, and imperatively necessary for him to 
keep his head over both shoulders at once in order to meet 
the turnings of the river, he was still fully conscious of all 
that passed just in front of him. 

Darya, the newcomer, had dropped her face into her 
hands, and the strain of who shall say what fearful hours 
and days and weeks, of intense anticipation of this mo- 
ment, was surging out in sobs that shook the boat. Sonia, 
with wisdom born of love, clasped her arms about her, and 
drew her close, and let her overcharged heart have play. 

Verney ’s strong arms swung like pistons, and presently 
the banks fell away and they were skimming the easier 
waters of the lake. 

The lights away down there on the right, were Neu- 
chatel, and he edged off and pulled with long eager strokes 
across towards the opposite shore. 

An hour’s steady rowing and Neuchatel lights lay right 
opposite them on the other side of the lake, and his pas- 
sengers had come to something of equanimity and the eager 
exchange of whispers. He turned and pulled shorewards, 
passed some feeble lights which he judged must be in 
houses in Cudrefin, and then, at last, pulled into the denser 
darkness. The boat grated on stones, and the voyage was 
over. 

“Now, Mademoiselle,” he said to Sonia, “if you two 
will slip in among the undergrowth there and transform 


OUT OF THE CAGE 


49 


Mademoiselle your sister into a boy, I will see to the rest.” 

He handed them out of the boat, and loaded himself 
with riicksacs and sticks and the tiny lamp. 

“I will leave everything with you here” — when he had 
found a suitable nook, about a hundred yards inland. 
“When you’ve done, wait here till I come. I shall have 
to swim back after sinking the boat.” 

“You’ll catch your death of cold,” shivered Sonia. 

“Not a bit of it. A swim will be bracing after the 
rowing, and I’ve got a towel here. Think you can man- 
age ? Make up your sister’s things into a bundle with 
stones inside, and see you tie it very tight.” 

He lit the lamp for them and disappeared into the dark- 
ness, and they listened till his footsteps died away in the 
direction of the lake. 

“Who is he?” asked Darya. 

“A young Englishman, who turned up by chance in the 
nick of time when Mme. d’Auriac’s promised assistant 
failed me. The Countess knows him and speaks for him. 
He has been very good.” 

“Does he know ” 

“I have told him — all that was necessary,” said Sonia 
quickly. “Now, dear, come! You have got to be changed 
into a boy and we have no time to lose.” 

“How did you manage? Did he help you?” with a 
hysterical desire to laugh and shout and scream. 

“No, of course not. He left me in a summer-house by 
Neuveville and rowed away till I was ready. I had to 
wrestle with the things myself, and I’m not sure now that 
I’ve got them on right. Fortunately there are big 
cloaks ” 

Verney found it no easy matter to charge his boat with 
such a load of rocks as would ensure its permanent settle- 
ment under water. He rasped his hands and bruised his 
shins as he stumbled about in the darkness, till at last he 


50 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


thought he had enough. Then he stripped quickly and 
pulled slowly out to deep water, rammed the butt of his 
oar through the thin planking, waited till the boat sank 
under him with nothing more than a soft gurgling, and 
struck out for the shore with the sculls under one arm/ He 
rubbed himself into a glow, dressed quickly, and wondered 
whether the boys were ready. In the distance, the glow of 
the tiny lamp, with Sonia standing between him and it, 
was no more than a soft blur on the darkness. 

He spent a few minutes in breaking up the sculls and 
shoving the pieces out of sight in the thickets, and then 
whistled tentatively, and received Sonia’s signal cheep in 
reply. 

“All right?” he asked, as he came to them. “Things 
fit?” 

“Quite all right,” said Sonia, but before he had time 
to satisfy himself, the lamp was suddenly extinguished. 

“If you will give me that bundle I will fling it out into 
the lake, and then I think our traces will be covered,” and 
he went off again with Darya’s things. 

“He is very good,” said Darya, as they waited in the 
darkness. 

“Yes, he is very good,” replied Sonia. 

He had some difficulty in finding them again, the dark- 
ness of the thickets was so intense, but an occasional 
whistle and reply eventually brought them together, and 
he put on his big rilcksac — and would have taken theirs 
also but they would not have it — and struck straight on 
through the tangle, away from the lake. 

“We shall strike a road presently and it will be easier,” 
he said. “We will take advantage of it till daylight and 
keep our eyes open for travellers. There’s not likely to 
be any one about so early as this, and we must get as far 
away as possible. We’ll take to the hills as soon as we 
can.” 


OUT OF THE CAGE 


51 


“Now," he said, when they had come out upon the road, 
and could attend to anything but their feet, “you” — turn- 
ing to Sonia — “will be — what will you be? — Louis, Fritz, 
Heinrich? No, stay, I think we’d better be English. Does 
Mademoiselle speak English?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Darya, and her voice was like Sonia’s, 
but less full and fluty. 

“Then we’re three mad Englishmen, and anything odd 
in our conduct or appearance will be set down to the na- 
tional idiosyncracies. So you’d better be Pat” — to Sonia 
— “and you, Mademoiselle — you shall be Jack. They’re 
both my own names, you see. I’ve got a heap of names. 
And I’ll be your Uncle Charles, and we’re on a tramp 
through the Oberland. So — Vive la Liberte and a bas 
Madame Grundy!” 

“It is very, very good to be free !” said Jack with feel- 
ing. “You don’t know — oh, you cannot possibly know— 
what it is to be free till you’ve been behind the bars. Do 
you think they will follow us, Mr. — Uncle Charles — I 
mean ?” 

“We have a good start. They won’t have the slightest 
idea which way we’ve gone. And I think it quite likely 
they will raise no hue and cry about the matter — for their 
own sakes. They will probably send word to every police- 
station, with a description of you, and tell them to keep 
a sharp look-out, especially along the frontiers. I sup- 
pose they’ll get nothing out of that woman?” 

“They won’t find her very easily. She was going right 
away and will easily lose herself.” 

“Who is Mme. Grundy?” asked Pat, “and why a bas 
with her?” 

“Mme. Grundy is the personification of the comme-il- 
faut, the social embodiment of all the things that ought 
to be done, and the scandalised reprover of all the things 
that ought not to be done. Mme. Grundy would most 


52 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


strongly disapprove of everything we are bent on doing — 
of your costumes, of my presence with you.” 

“Then down with her by all means, for if you weren’t 
here we would none of us be here, and Darya ” 

“Jack!” 

“Jack, I mean, would still be in — over yonder.” 

“If Mme. Grundy were a real power I would never have 
been over yonder,” said Jack soberly. 

“Were they hard to you? Were they harsh?” asked 
Pat anxiously. 

“No, they were not. In their way they were even kind. 
But bars are bars, and no one knows how they crush and 
break, until they have been inside them. Oh, it is good to 
be free!” she cried, flinging out her arms from under her 
cloak as though to gather freedom into a wide embrace. 
“To be able to walk on and on for ever instead of round 
and round. I wouldn’t care if I died to-day, now that I 
have tasted freedom once more.” 

“But we will hope you’ll live to enjoy it for many a 
year,” said Verney heartily, and felt himself amply repaid 
for all his labours, in her vehement gladness. 

She told them, disjointedly, of her prison life, and found 
so obvious a delight in being able to talk, in the same way 
as she could walk, on and on without restraint, that they 
would not check her. It was all part of her first deep 
draught of freedom, for in prison you cannot talk as you 
would, any more than you can walk on and on for ever. 

She had no tales of oppression or ill-usage to tell, but 
behind all her talk they could feel the grim shadow of the 
bars, and every now and again she would take a full deep 
breath of delight that the bars were no longer there. 

They walked steadily for close on three hours, until the 
road took a sudden turn to the south, and in all that 
time they never set eyes on a human being. Then, as 


OUT OF THE CAGE 


53 

dawn began to soften the eastern grayness, J ack began to 
limp a little wearily. 

“I’m not used to so much walking,” she said depreca- 
tingly, “but oh, don’t let us stop, please !” 

“An hour’s rest,” said the Good Uncle autocratically, 
“and something to eat, and we’ll all feel the better for it. 
I wanted to get done with this road before the daylight 
came.” 

So they struck off from the road and found a nook in a 
clump of trees, and he produced divine sandwiches made of 
long rolls, well-buttered, with meat inside, and a bottle of 
wine, with aluminum fold-up cups to drink it out of, and 
they divested themselves, somewhat shyly, of their cloaks 
and sat on them, for the dew was heavy even under the 
trees. 

They did their best to appear unconsciously at ease in 
their unwonted garments, and he did his best not to 
trouble them with undue observation. But they were 
eminently good to look upon, truly a most attractive couple 
of boys, slight and slim, and endowed, to his thinking at 
all events, with graces quite beyond the compassing of or- 
dinary boys, though, for the time being, just a trifle in- 
commoded by the size of their shoes, and their unwonted 
display of stout, rough stockings. 

It was well for him that he was smoking when he 
noticed Pat’s violet eyes fixed intently on his own stock- 
inged leg, and saw her, after a reasonable interval, turn 
away and readjust her own in keeping with it, and then 
quietly tackle Jack’s. 

“Pat, my boy,” he suggested, with a twinkle, “so many 
rings on a boy’s hand are not good form. Suppose you 
put them in your pocket. You’ve got lots of pockets now, 
you know,” and she blushingly stripped her slim white 
fingers and pouched her ornaments. 

“You must try and get those hands a bit browned, too,” 


54 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


he said, regretfully. “They’re much too white for boys’ 
hands.” 

“I’ll dirty them,” and she picked up a piece of earth 
and obscured their too attractive cleanliness. 

“Mine will pass all right for boys’ hands,” said Jack 
quietly, and there was just a touch of sadness for them 
all in the thought of how they came so. “You see we had 
to do certain things in there, clean out our rooms and so 
on, and one could not wash too often.” 

“They’ll soon come right again,” said Pat consolingly, 
“and anyway it saves you the trouble of dirtying them 
now.” 

“How wonderful it is!” sighed Jack, as they sat in the 
feshness of the morning, and the soft white mist began to 
rise to greet the sun and swathed them in filmy folds, “I 
have seen the dawn come almost every day” — and her eyes 
were heavy with the recollection of the long, slow nights 
which only broke to longer, slower days — the unutterable 
weariness of the days and nights behind the bars — “but 
this is different — oh, so different! As different as life is 
from death. Then,” with a deep grateful sigh, “there was 
nothing to look forward to but endless days and nights 
all just the same. Now ... I can never, never 
thank you for getting me- out,” and she looked earnestly 
from one to the other of them. 

“It’s all Pat’s doing,” said Verney hastily, for there 
was an unspeakable pathos in her eyes — very like Sonia’s, 
he thought, but full-charged with sadness — which touched 
his heart. “She’s the head and heart of the matter. I’m 
only the trusty right hand, and that only by her Excel- 
lency’s most gracious favour,” and Pat shot a quick 
searching look at him, which he took as a reproof for his 
flippancy. 

“Forgive me!” he said hastily. “It is just as well we 


OUT OF THE CAGE 


55 


should keep on the lighter plane. Remember, we are mad 
Englishmen !” 

“I am very grateful to you both,” said Jack again. “Do 
you really think I can get clear away, Mr. Verney?” 

“Of course we can. We’ve made an excellent start, any- 
way. Here’s how we’re going” — and to divert their 
thoughts, he pulled out his map, and traced their route by 
hill-paths and bridle-roads to the western shore of the 
Thuner See. “Then we’ll get a boat, and I’ll land you in 
the boat-house of the Chateau without a soul in Unter- 
hofen knowing a thing about it. And there you’ll have a 
good long rest, and then we’ll take the road again and go, 
I think, by Frutigen and Kandersteg and the Gemmi, down 
into the Rhone Valley, and then, if we think well, cross one 
of the passes into Piedmont, or into Savoy. We shall 
have to be guided by circumstances to some extent.” 

“It is so good to have something to look forward to, 
something to hope for,” said Darya. “It is better to be 
hunted outside with always the hope of escape, even though 
it killed one in a week, than to lie safe behind the bars for 
ever. Oh, yes ! Even if they caught me now I would be 
glad to have had this bit of freedom. I could live on it for 
years.” 

“I hope you will live on it all the rest of your life, free 
and happy, and may it be a long one !” said Verney. “Now 
let us put the past behind us and think no more of it all.” 

“The thought of it makes the present all the brighter.” 

“Whereabouts are we, Mr. Verney? What is that little 
town with the pillar away over there?” asked Pat. 

“That’s Avenches,” he pointed to the map. “We’re 
somewhere about here, and we go straight on across to 
Unterhofen !” 

“It looks a terrible long way. How long will it take?” 

“That depends on how your strength holds out, but we 
certainly can’t do it in one day. It’s about thirty-five 


56 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


miles from where we sit, I reckon, but we’ll probably not 
be able to go quite as straight as that line I’ve drawn on 
the map.” 

“And where shall we stop the night?” 

“I’m not sure till we get there. I propose to walk on all 
day, resting whenever you feel tired, and when we can’t go 
any further we must look out for a place to put up at. If 
we haven’t too many detours to make we might perhaps 
get as far as Noirburg here. Then we should be in Unter- 
hofen to-morrow evening.” 

“Is there an hotel at Noirburg?” asked Pat, thought- 
fully. 

“More than one, according to Baedeker.” 

“How are we going to manage if we go to an hotel?” 

“Why — how do you mean?” 

“Well, you see, we can’t very well wear our hats at table. 
I’m inclined to think we’d better cut it all off and have 
done with it.” 

“Not a hair of it!” he said, so warmly that Jack re- 
garded him with a touch of wonder, and then let her 
eyes dwell thoughtfully on Pat. “There is no need. I’ve 
thought of all that. Remember, we are crazy Englishmen. 
We arrive late. You go up to your rooms at once. You 
are over- tired with walking — that will be true enough, I 
expect. You have your supper sent up to you, and eat it, 
like mad Englishmen, with the windows wide open and 
your hats on. Breakfast the same! How will that do?” 

“We might manage it that way,” she mused. “They’ll 
only think we’re a bit crazier than usual.” 

“It’s so late in the season that there will probably be 
no one but ourselves anywhere.” 

“It’s the hotel people we’ve got to think about. They all 
talk so.” 

“We must all talk English and be unable to understand 
any other language. That will let us through all right. 


OUT OF THE CAGE 


57 


Now, if you’re rested we’ll get on,” and they shouldered 
their packs and set off with new vigour. 

I doubt if any of them had ever found such enjoyment 
in walking before. It was, you must remember, a glorious 
late autumn morning. The sun was brilliant but not too 
warm. The dewdrops twinkled under their feet with the 
radiance of all the jewels in the world. All about them 
was the sweetness and freshness of the new day, and in 
them all the feeling of a newer day still. From far and 
near the long quavering notes of deep-toned cow-bells 
sounded in their ears like ceaseless and urgent invitations 
to prayer. 

Now and again they came to streams tumbling noisily 
along the middles of stony beds a hundred times too wide 
for them, but the chaos of rocks and boulders, which help- 
ed them across dry-foot, told tales of what those streams 
could do when the melting snows came down in the early 
summer. And at times they wound upwards and got 
glimpses of the massive green and grey slopes of the Niesen 
and Stockholm in front, and, further away, of the snowy 
heights of the Bliimlissalp, and away beyond them of the 
serene majesty of the Jungfrau and Monch and Eiger. 

They passed through long green valleys dotted with 
chalets and rough wooden cowsheds, and through pastures 
merry with the tinkle and babble of running waters and 
glowing at times with swathes of purple crocus. And 
there, a cow-boy on a distant slope yodelled blithely to his 
fellows down below, and here, a string of children trotting 
to school carolled as sweetly as an angel-choir. 

To Darya, new-freed from walls and bars, it was like a 
foretaste of heaven. She had no words, for her heart was 
like to burst with the joy of it all. Her eyes were softly 
bright and brimming whenever Verney looked at her. He 
knew that if he spoke to her she must break into passion- 
ate weeping. 


58 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


And Sonia, too, was glad beyond words, for all her hopes 
were realised. All had gone well, and Darya was free. 

As for Verney himself — put yourself in his shoes if you 
can, and try to imagine how he felt about it all. 

At times, when he looked at Sonia, he had to pinch 
himself severely in order to bring home to himself the 
fact, the most astounding fact, the only-with-extremest- 
difficulty-to-be-realised fact, that this was only Saturday, 
and he had first made her acquaintance on Wednesday. 

It passed belief. And yet there was Sonia — a new 
Sonia, indeed, in some aspects, and if possible even more 
delightful than the one whose acquaintance he had made 
so strangely and so stormily behind the big beech-tree on 
St. Peter’s-insel ; and here was he, ready to fall on his 
knees at any moment and kiss the shoe-string of this four- 
days-before-absolutely-unknown but now all-heart-enthrall- 
ing maiden. 

He marvelled — then he looked again at Sonia and wasted 
no more time in useless wonder. 

With hearts so full they spoke but little, but walked, 
and stopped to gaze and listen, and walked again, and 
feasted their hearts in their various ways. 

Till Jack began to limp again, and Uncle Charles’s 
quick eye, on the look-out for symptoms of the kind, noted 
it at once, and called an immediate halt. 

“No good overdoing it,” he said cheerily. “Greatest 
mistake in the world to get blisters the very first day. 
I could perhaps carry one of you,” looking at the slim, 
tired figures with a merry eye, “but I doubt if I could man- 
age both of you at once.” 

“We will walk,” said Pat with emphasis. 

“But first we will rest,” said Verney. “And when we 
get to the hotel you will bathe your feet in warm water and 
bran, and then anoint them with cognac, and in the morn- 
ing you will both of you soap your stockings well inside.” 


OUT OF THE CAGE 


59 


“Bran? What is bran?” asked Pat. “And why put 
cognac on one’s feet? And how and why soap one’s stock- 
ings? I have never done any of these things before.” 

“Bran — die Kleie , — the inner husk of the com. You 
will find it very soothing to tired feet. The cognac will 
cheer them up. The soap rubbed well over the stocking 
inside will keep away blisters to-morrow.” 

“We can try it any way, and truly my feet are not over 
happy.” 

From his Pandora-box of a riicksac he produced an- 
other bottle of wine, and the fold-up cups, and still more 
sandwich-rolls of a quite fresh variety of inside furnishing, 
and cakes and grapes, and they made a very hearty meal. 

“And now,” he said lazily, as he lit a cigar, “if you’ll 
take my advice you will both lie down and have a nap. We 
none of us got any rest last night and it tells upon one. 
You will find me under yonder tree, and you’ll probably 
have to kick me for five minutes before I come to life again. 
I’m as sleepy as a dog. Au revoir , and dormez bien , Mes- 
demoiselles !” and he strolled away to his tree, a hundred 
yards away, and lay down and smoked for a few minutes, 
and then fell fast asleep, and his cigar fell from his fingers 
and cremated itself into a beautiful white ash by his side, 
and when Pat came to waken him she thought it was a long 
grey snail. 


CHAPTER VII 

SPREAD WINGS 

T HEY crossed many stony streams, climbed in and 
out of many soft green valleys, and strolled into 
the little town of Noirburg, just as the lights began 
to twinkle behind the flower-laden balconies and creeper- 
covered galleries of its velvet-brown wooden houses. 

“The Bear or the Lion?" said Verney, as they passed 
first the one and then the other. “Which shall it be? Both 
seem equally modest and equally unprepared for visitors.” 

The season was over, and neither house offered any 
ostentatious show of hospitality. There was a light, 
however, in the ground floor of the Bear , behind a screen 
of small fir-trees in green tubs. 

“The Bear will be the older. Let us try that,” said Pat. 
“All right. Don’t forget we’re crazy Englishmen and 
understand no German,” and they turned in under the sign 
of a rampant little black carnivore, and found themselves 
in the cafe of the establishment. 

At sight of a couple of stalwart blue policemen sitting at 
a table, the girls would have drawn back, but Verney 
marched in and they had to follow. 

It was not until they had reached the kitchen at the 
back that the stout little landlady came bustling to meet 
them, astonished at visitors so late in the day and in the 
year. 

“We want two rooms and three beds,” said Verney in 
good plain English. 


60 


SPREAD WINGS 


61 


“Bitte?” said the landlady with a wide, comprehensive, 
but uncomprehending stare. 

“Two rooms ” and he held up two fingers. “Three 

beds,” and he held up three fingers. 

“Ah, three beds,” as she caught at the familiar word. 

“Yaw!” said Yerney. “One, two, three beds.” 

From the broken torrent of ejaculations she poured 
forth he gathered that three beds, at that time of year, 
and her without servants, seeing that she dismissed them 
all as soon as the season was over, was something of a 
problem. But his face showed no sign of understanding, 
and she turned and led the way upstairs. 

“That’s all right,” he said heartily, as she opened the 
doors of three rooms and turned on the electric lights. 
“That is, if you’ll make up the beds properly,” and he 
demonstrated his meaning by pulling depreciatively at the 
temporary covering. 

“Oh, ja, ja!” laughed the little woman. 

“And now we want supper.” 

“Suppe allein ? (Soup only?)” she asked wonderingly. 

“Everything you’ve got, and wine and coffee,” and he 
opened his mouth wide to show how hungry they were. 
“And as quickly as you like, and we’ll take it up here.” 

“Soup — wine — coffee — here,” she caught at such words 
as held some meaning for her, then shook her head bewil- 
deredly. “Why can’t people speak what one can under- 
stand?” she murmured, and trotted away downstairs. 

She came back presently with an ancient little German- 
English dictionary, which she thrust into Verney’s hand, 
with the satisfied air of one who had encountered that same 
difficulty many times before and knew just how to get 
round it. 

“Ah — good!” he said, and told her first, by aid of the 
book, that she was a clever woman, and then, word by word, 
made clear their further requirements. 


62 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


The only thing to which she took any exception was 
their having their supper upstairs, and she explained again 
with such volubility, that she was short-handed and could 
not be running up and down stairs all night — to all of 
which they had to present as stolid and uncomprehending 
faces as they could assume — that at last Verney turned 
to the girls and said, “We’d better do as she wants, I 
think, and you must keep your hats on all the same. She’ll 
only take it as another sign of our barbarous lack of un- 
derstanding,” and they submitted and followed her down- 
stairs. 

She led them, however, to a little salon made by covering 
in the side gallery of the house, and as there was a good 
deal of the conservatory about it, their hats and even their 
cloaks were not out of order. 

“Now,” said Verney, assiduously consulting the diction- 
ary, “ Geschwinde , schnell , gewandt, rasch , lebendig , reg- 
sam ” 

“Ah — ja — ja — ja — ja — ja!” gurgled the landlady, with 
her hands to her ears, and rolled away to her kitchen, 
where they heard her describing them and their stupidities, 
with gusts of laughter, to some one who punctuated her 
recital with sonorous “So’s.” 

In due course, however, she served them with a very good 
supper, and was put into high good humour by the wine 
Verney ordered, and in fact was so doubtful whether he had 
correctly noted its price that she drew his attention to it 
with a fat forefinger, and was visibly impressed by his non- 
chalant, “Yaw, yaw.” 

More than once during the meal a stout kitchen-fire- 
faced man in a white flat cap peeped round the door at 
them, and after each such occasion the comments in the 
kitchen broke out again. 

“But why do they wear their hats all the time, then ?” — 
they heard one time. 


SPREAD WINGS 


63 


And the sonorous one replied, “Some kinds of English- 
men do so. They wear them in their churches and even in 
their Reichstag, and their King never takes off his hat at 
all” 

“They are barbarians over there ! Thank God we 
Swiss are not like that ! Even the Germans take off their 
hats to eat.” 

“So long as they drink champagne at twelve francs 
fifty — and pay for it,” he added as an afterthought, “they 
may sleep in their hats, and in their boots, too, if they like.” 

“ Herr gott ! Not in their boots” — and, after a thought- 
ful silence — “if they don’t put their boots outside I will 
knock and say I want to clean them. It would make such 
a mess of the beds if they slept in their boots.” 

But while this first meal was not without its humours, 
neither was it lacking in its touches of pathos. 

For Verney’s laughing eye happening to catch Darya’s 
accidentally one time, at some point in the kitchen discus- 
sion, he was surprised to see hers swimming with tears, and 
the drops rolling down her thin cheeks unheeded. 

He looked away quickly and would have taken no notice, 
but it was Darya herself who presently said very quietly — 

“It is strange, you see, to eat with a knife and fork 
again. It brings it all back.” 

“Why, you don’t mean to say ” began Sonia in a 

fierce whisper. 

“For a year I have had nothing but a spoon to eat with,” 
she said quietly. “I lost heart about a year ago, and grew 
very hopeless and despondent. . . . Perhaps if I 

had had a knife I should one day have killed myself. And 
they thought so too, and so they took it away” — and 
Sonia’s pretty face was warped with pity and anger at 
thought of all she had suffered. 

“You must never let them put me back there,” she said 


64 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


to Sonia. “I would very much sooner die. Oh, very much 
sooner, after tasting what it is to be alive again.” 

“No, you shall never go back there,” said Sonia fiercely. 
“I would sooner think of you dead, dear, much sooner ! We 
will die together if need be.” 

It was odd to sit there and hear them discussing such 
possibilities, and Vemey set himself to tune their thoughts 
to a lighter strain. 

“You need not have the slightest fear,” he said weight- 
ily. “You are well out of their hands, and we will keep 
you so. Now, if you will be good boys, you shall each have 
a cigarette with your coffee, if you like, and then we’ll 
tackle Madame about the bran. She’ll probably think 
Englishmen always drink a couple of quarts of bran and 
hot water when they go to bed, and she’ll have a fit.” 

So when Madame came in with their coffee, and he had 
insisted on her changing the kirsch she brought for cognac 
fine, he ordered also a packet of cigarettes, and then, by 
the aid of the dictionary, requested bran, and greatly 
enjoyed her amazement. 

“But ” she cried, repeating the words after him, 

in the evident belief that he had got hold of the wrong 
ones — “Die Kleie — Kleien! Now what in heaven’s 
name ” 

“For our feet,” said Verney, solemnly, turning the pages 
quickly. 

“For your feet!” she cried, in her own tongue. “Bran! 
for your feet!” 

“With hot water,” Verney evoked from the book, and 
laid it down in front of her and pointed out the printed 
words: “Die Kleie, Kleien, wasser, het ” — and wished to 
finish the order with “presently — upstairs.” But the little 
book had no word for “upstairs,” and so he made it “pres- 
ently — in bed” — at which Madame threw up her hands 
with an amazed “Oh, my goodness ! What kind of not-to- 


SPREAD WINGS 


65 


be-comprehended mind-distracting people are these?” and 
went off to consult with the sonorous one, who let off 
volleys of “NoY’ and “ J awohV s” at the recital, and turned 
it over in his mind, and questioned her explicitly, and 
finally said, “Nevertheless, since they drink champagne 
at twelve francs fifty — and, after all, bran is cheap and 
they will pay for it at a profitable price.” 

“This is the first cigarette I have smoked for two years,” 
said Darya again presently, and much more cheerfully. 

“We used to smoke at home, of course. But you ” to 

Verney. “The women do not smoke in England, do they?” 

“Oh, some do.” 

“And do you like to see women smoke?” 

“As a rule, no. But circumstances may alter cases. 
You have been accustomed to it, I know. And besides you 
are boys, and boys will be boys all the world over,” and 
truly there seemed no incongruity in the thin blue wreaths 
that curled about the shapely faces, on which the various 
anxieties of the day had left their traces. 

“I don’t see why tobacco should not be as soothing to 
women’s nerves as to men’s,” said Sonia disputatiously. 
“Besides, they are usually credited with more troublesome 
nerves than men, and so should require it more.” 

“Sauce for the gander, sauce for the goose. All the 
same, a woman in evening dress, smoking, never appeals 
to me — not even in Russia.” 

“You have been in Russia?” asked Darya quickly. 

“Oh, yes, I was there for nearly two years — in Peters- 
burg.” 

“And you do not mind seeing us smoke? Why is that?” 

“On the contrary ! It must surely be because I see you 
are enjoying it and not doing it simply out of bravado. 
Besides — you are boys, you know, at present.” 

“One misses it much at first, when one has been accus- 
tomed to it,” said Darya thoughtfully. “But it is surpris- 


66 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


ing what you can do without when you have to. 

There is only one thing you can never get reconciled to — 
stone walls and iron bars ; — one thing you never cease to 
long for — liberty. Till the longing becomes an obsession. 
And when you have outworn that longing life is not much 
worth.” 

“Try to forget it all, dearest,” said Sonia with deep 
feeling. 

“Forget it, child? . . . Would to God I could!” 

“One cannot always forget, but one can make up one’s 
mind not to dwell upon the sad things of life,” began 
Verney didactically. 

“And the more you make up your mind not to, the 
more you do,” said Darya, and he knew there was truth 
in her words. 

“Well, I propose an early turn-in to-night and an early 
turn-out to-morrow morning. After the day’s exertions, 
and no rest last night, you ought to sleep like tops. So 
now we’ll see to the bran and hot water. Put your feet 
in it for ten minutes or so. Then dry them and bathe them 
with a little cognac — take the bottle up with you. And 
in the morning turn your stockings inside out and soap the 
feet well all over, especially the sole. You will find the 
benefit of it during the day. I think you’ll find everything 
you need in your riicksacs. To-morrow night you will 
sleep at Unterhofen. 


CHAPTER IX 


ONLY A HAIRPIN 

^ HEY are strange, not-to-be-understood, and full- 
of-their-own-queer-notions people, those Eng- 
lish,” said the stout little landlady, as she stood 
with her arms akimbo, gazing after the departing travel- 
lers next morning. 

“ Jawohl !” said her husband, peering over her shoulder, 
with his white cap like a halo on the back of his head. “I 
would have more of them, since they drink champagne at 
twelve francs fifty, and pay for it. And for me, they can 
have all the cognac they want in their bedrooms, and bran 
and hot water by the bucket-full to drink or otherwise, so 
long as they pay for it. There was profit on that bran — 
yes, indeed!” 

“They have had rolls and butter and honey enough for 
five, and they can be at Plaffeyen in two, three hours, and 
can eat again there if they are hungry, and yet they have 
taken bread and sausage enough to live on for two days, to 
say nothing of another bottle of champagne ” 

“At twelve francs fifty — and paid for.” 

“I always regarded the Germans as big eaters, but, mein 
Gott, they are nothing to these Englishmen!” 

And the landlady rubbed her nose meditatively with the 
rounded top of a little silvered hair-pin, which she had 
found below the dressing-table of Sonia’s room, and won- 
dered if English boys as a rule used such things — and how 
— and why. 

The night’s rest had done them all good. The weariness 

67 


68 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


had gone out of their limbs, and even the girls’ feet had 
recovered and were fit again. Unterhofen was before them 
— something under twenty miles away indeed, but still the 
next stopping-place ; the morning air was deliciously crisp 
and inspiriting; and the clanging of the deep-toned cow- 
bells, the silvery tinkling of the goats’ bells, and, for a 
time, the more ordered pealing of many church bells, floated 
mellowly along the hillsides, and filled the valleys with 
music, and rang in their ears like paens of victory at diffi- 
culties overcome and dangers successfully avoided. 

Sonia’s spirits effervesced in dancing steps and snatches 
of song. 

Darya paced along more sedately, every step and 
every breath a tribute of gratitude for this mighty gift of 
freedom. She spoke very little, for her heart was like to 
burst with these new deep draughts of the life that had in 
it no bars, no dreadful walls, no inflexible rules and regu- 
lations — nothing but thoughtful consideration and tender- 
est care. And at times the swelling hills on either side, and 
the great benignant white peaks beyond, swam mistily 
before her as the grateful tears welled up, again and again, 
at thought of it all — of the two dreadful years she had 
spent in the whitewashed tomb, and of this wonderful resur- 
rection from the dead. 

They kept the high road to Plaffeyen as far as the 
middle of the great curve, and never met a soul the whole 
way except one old man leading four wilful goats to pas- 
ture. Then, where the road, after a long sweep to the 
east, turns back to the west before dropping down into 
Plaffeyen, they shook off its dust and took a footpath that 
led, by way of Reiffenmatt and the Langeneywald, towards 
Gurnigel. 

And that was why the blue policeman retains to this day 
such an exalted idea of the pedestrian prowess of Eng- 
lishmen. 


ONLY A HAIRPIN! 


69 


He came into the Bear to pass the time of day with 
the Herr Proprietor and Madame, and found them full to 
overflowing concerning Englishmen and their strange 
wants and ways. 

By reason of the Herr Proprietor and Madame both 
talking at once, and enlarging on some things and omitting 
others, he gathered, and still believes, that the very new- 
est English custom is to drink a couple of quarts or more 
of bran mixed with hot water and cognac before retiring 
to rest. Putting two and two together later on, he was 
inclined to attribute their wonderful walking powers to this 
uncommon mixture. 

“Yes, they were odd enough without a doubt, wearing 
their hats night and day, and all that, but they drank at 
twelve francs fifty — and paid without a word, and so the 
more we get of them the better, say I,” said the Herr Pro- 
prietor. “What’s that you’ve got there?” as he caught the 
gleam of the unmanly little implement with which Madame 
was thoughtfully rubbing the side of her nose. 

“I found it in one of the young Herr’s bedrooms.” 

“ Gott , but they are strange people, those English! 
Why, it’s a hairpin !” 

“A hairpin, without doubt,” confirmed the blue police- 
man weightily. 

“I expect all the young Herren in England wear them,” 
said Madame. “They were as delicate-looking as girls, 
both of them.” 

And from that overlooked hairpin of Sonia’s we may 
fairly hang all that followed. 

The blue policeman experienced a very natural regret 
that he had not had the opportunity of closer personal ob- 
servation of the ways of these unusual travellers. And as 
business led him to Plaffeyen, he determined to catch them 
up and see for himself. 


70 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


He set off after them at a good quick pace, and walked 
for an hour without sighting them. 

The only person he saw, in all that time, was a very 
old man wandering round a field after four lively goats. 

‘‘Seen three travellers pass this way?” shouted the police- 
man. 

“Yes, yes — on in front.” 

And the policeman quickened his pace, but never caught 
up with his quarry. 

It was the following day before he heard any word of 
the escape of a prisoner from Ste. Julienne. 

And then the escaped prisoner was a girl, and a Russian 
girl at that, and these things did not directly suggest, 
to his somewhat slow official mind, any connection with 
three on-foot-travelling Englishmen. 

Then he remembered that hairpin, and revolving it in 
his mind, it scratched a vague possibility thereon, and after 
due consideration, he ventured to speak of it to his superior 
officer. He, scenting possibilities for himself in the matter, 
made light of it — dexterously, and by way of showing his 
subordinate how foolish his suspicions were, acquired all 
the information he possessed — and quietly set to work to 
follow it up on his own account. 

It was only Verney’s precautions in the matter of bathed 
feet and soaped stockings that carried the unaccustomed 
travellers through that long and arduous second day’s 
march. 

Darya especially, fresh from the cramping effects of 
two years of stone walls and iron bars, discovered before 
long how weak the flesh may prove in spite of an indomi- 
table spirit. 

The bravely-smiling face with which she greeted Ver- 
ney’s earlier suggestions as to resting, misled him some- 
what as to her physical powers. She urged them on and 


ONLY A HAIRPIN! 


71 


on, and would not hear of stopping. For behind her was 
the prison-house, and in front was liberty. 

Sonia stepped with a spring, and carolled snatches of 
the yodel-songs the children sang as they went to school. 
And Charles Yerney had nothing but joy in his heart at 
having been permitted to help her in this great undertak- 
ing, and at the sight and sound of her happiness. 

They stopped, and ate and drank and rested, at times, 
in spite of Darya’s urgency, but she was always the first 
to be up and anxious for the road again. 

It was a lovely country they walked through, heading 
straight for the Stockhorn and taking any path that 
served, and, if none offered, making one. 

Avoiding everything in the nature of a village, even 
though it lengthened their journey somewhat to do so, 
and fighting shy even of single chalets when it was pos- 
sible to avoid them, they encountered very few people, and 
those mostly only cow-boys singing merrily to their un- 
responsive charges, or very ancient men and women wan- 
dering vacuously after lively tinkling goats. And this it 
was that gave the blue policeman’s superior so much 
trouble when he tried to trace them a few days later. 

The sun was almost level with them in the west as they 
climbed one of the lower flanks of the Stockhorn, and saw 
the lake of Thun gleaming and darkling below them. 

“How far?” gasped Darya, sinking down on a mossy 
rock, and Yerney saw by her strained face and tightened 
lips that her strength was about exhausted. 

“Less than three miles, I should say,” he said cheerfully. 

She shook her head wearily. “I doubt if I can do it.” 

“We’ll have a good long rest, and a smoke, and you 
will please drink this,” pouring out a dose of cognac from 
his flask. “And we will go slowly, and not get down to the 
lake till it is dark, and you shall hang on to us both, and 
if necessary we’ll carry you between us. Now which is 


72 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


Unterhofen ?” to Sonia, who was kneeling by her sister, full 
of pity and concern. 

“Right across there with the flashing windows. That to 
the right is Gunten. That is the chateau right on the lake- 
side. Oh, I wish we were there !” 

“We’ll be there all right presently. Where can we get 
a boat, do you suppose?” 

“Einigen is nearest. And they have boats there, I 
know. I have often rowed across. You see that thin little 
spire, like a needle. That’s the old church.” 

The sight of the chateau across the water, and all that it 
meant of comfort and relief, heartened Darya somewhat, 
but when, after a lengthened rest, she got up and insisted 
on going on, it was evident that she had outwalked her 
strength and was almost in a state of collapse. 

He made her cling to his arm, and Sonia took her other 
arm, and so, slowly and heavily, they stumbled down-hill 
towards the lake. It was the most trying bit of the jour- 
ney. Never had miles seemed made of so many steps. 
Darya did her best, but at times she hung so limply between 
them that they feared she had fainted, and then Verncy 
would stop and try to administer more cognac, and she 
would gasp, “No, no ! Get on, get on !” 

When they came to the Kander, rushing noisily over a 
wide bed of grey stones, it was too dark for the girls to 
attempt the crossing. So Vemey rolled up his trousers, 
and, regardless of boots and stockings, carried them over 
in turn and rejoiced in the service. Indeed, the joy of 
having Sonia cradled in his arms, and clutching spasmodic- 
ally at him as he stumbled over the slippery stones, was 
such that he would willing have gone on carrying her 
across stony rivers all night long. 

“I won’t let you drop,” he laughed quietly one time, at 
a more fearful clutch than usual. 

“You might fall,” she gasped. 


ONLY A HAIRPIN ! 


73 


“Then we’d at all events go down together. But we’re 
not going down.” 

“We cannot thank you for all you are doing for us, Mr. 
Verney,” she murmured. 

“I’m enjoying* it tremendously, I assure you,” and he felt 
his way cautiously across, regardless of bruises down 
below, and regretful only at the shortness of the journey. 

The lights were twinkling in the few scattered houses 
of Einigen as they crossed the railway line, and came 
down to the lake side. 

“Now, shall we take French leave with a boat, or shall 
we hire one?” he whispered, as they passed, between two 
houses down to a tiny beach where several boats were 
drawn up. 

“The less we are seen the better,” said Sonia. “The 
trouble is — yes, here is one with oars. They generally 
take them away at night.” 

“Get in, then, and we’ll chance it,” and they stepped in. 
He shoved the boat quietly out and laid hold of the pinned 
oars. 

They were not fifty yards out when the door of one of 
the houses opened, and in the broad shaft of light two men 
came down to the beach, and after an outburst of surprised 
ejaculation at the disappearance of their boat, broke into 
furious objurgation and counter-accusation of stupidity in 
not tying it up properly. 

“That’s all right,” laughed Verney, as they swept along 
under his long steady strokes. “I’ll take their boat back 
as soon as I’ve landed you. I suppose there are boats at 
the Chateau.” 

“Oh, yes, proper boats,” said Sonia. “Not like this.” 

“I’ll take one and tow this tub back and leave it where 
we found it. Am I going right ? Keep me straight for the 
Chateau.” 

“All right,” and she peered into the dimness in front, 


74 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


while Darya sat, silent and weary, but with who knows 
what of tumult in her heart at the thought that all her 
troubles were over, and here at last she was within touch 
of safety, and her own people again. 

“A little to the left,” ordered Sonia. “ We’re going to- 
wards Gunten.” 

“Your left or mine?” 

“My left — more up this way.” 

“That’s port a bit. To the right is starboard,” and 
after that she gave him his directions in correct nautical 
terms. 

And presently they were running straight for a denser 
patch of darkness on the shadowy shore, which proved to 
be the trees and garden of the Chateau, and creeping war- 
ily along the lake wall they stole up to the boat-house. 

“Thank God!” said Sonia fervently. “And they’ve left 
the door unfastened for us,” and they nosed cautiously in. 
“Now, Dolly, dear! Mind the steps, they’re always slip- 
pery. Why, she’s asleep! . . . Oh, Dolly, what’s 

wrong, dear?” 

“You hold the boat as steady as you can, and I’ll lift 
her out. It’s been too much for her, I’m afraid. Now — 
so! That’s all right! I’ll carry her up to the house. 
Better twist that rope round something to make sure. 
Now, if you’ll lead on, Mademoiselle. 

Sonia led the way swiftly under the trees to the house, 
and he followed with Darya in his arms, her long hair float- 
ing round him like a veil. 

They came round to a modern French window where 
there was a light, and Sonia tapped on it, evoking an 
ejaculation of surprise from within. Then Madame di 
Garda’s anxious white face peered out at them, and in a 
moment she had them all in her arms, so to speak. 

She embraced Sonia, and almost looked like doing the 


ONLY A HAIRPIN! 


75 


same with Verney, but her dismay at sight of Darya’s con- 
dition intervened. 

“I think she’s just over-done,” he said. “A drop of cog- 
nac, perhaps,” and Madame flew to a sideboard, and 
poured out a glassful with trembling hand. 

“The poor child! My poor little Dolinka! What she 
has suffered !” she murmured, as Verney laid his light bur- 
den on a sofa, and Sonia dropped a little of the cognac 
between her pale lips and dabbed some on her forehead. 

Darya opened her heavy eyes and blinked wonderingly 
on them all, and then put up her hands to her hair. 

“Auntie! Auntie!” she cried, lifting her arms, and 
Madame fell on her knees beside her and wept joyously 
over her. 

“I’ll take that boat back at once,” whispered Verney to 
Sonia. 

“Must you? — to-night? You must be nearly dead.” 

“Not a bit of it. It’s best to make a clean sweep of the 
matter at once, and leave no traces.” 

“I wish you had not to go,” she said, with a knitting of 
the pretty brows. “Are you sure you can find the way?” 

“I’ll manage all right, somehow.” 

“Wait! You shall take M. Joannot. He often goes out 
in the boat, and he couldn’t lose himself.” 

“Who is M. Joannot?” 

“He’s aunt’s chef , and a dear old thing. He’s a bit deaf 
at times, but his eyes are good and he can row.” 

“If we can trust him ” 

“Absolutely. He’s been with her twenty years and more. 
Darya and I have known him all our lives. There is noth- 
ing he would not do for us.” 

“Then by all means, M. Joannot, and the sooner we’re 
off the better.” 

“I’ll go and get him,” and she slipped away. 

Darya was lying quietly back in a pile of cushions 


76 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


which Madame di Garda had heaped about her in her anxi- 
ety to make up, as far as was in her power, for all her past 
discomforts. 

She smiled wanly across at Verney. 

“I don’t know how we’re ever going to thank you, Mr. 
Verney,” she said very gratefully. “We never could have 
managed it all alone.” 

“Mr. Verney has earned our undying gratitude,” said 
Madame fervently. 

“I don’t know when I ever enjoyed anything so much 
before,” he assured them. “I’m only sorry you’re suffering 
' from it. But, you see, we had to get along as quickly as 
we possibly could.” 

“I shall be all right after a good rest. I’ve not been 
used to much exertion lately. Will it be all right here, 
aunt? Your people ” 

“Not one but would give their right hand for you, dear. 
You need have no fears. Now we’ve got you we’ll guard 
you like a precious jewel.” 

Sonia came back, followed by a portly man, dressed in 
immaculate white, clean-shaven and close-cropped, whose 
face conveyed, by its dried-up lack of colour, an unmis- 
takable impression of hot fires and cookery. It was a good 
honest face, however, and was, at the moment, all alight 
with joy and amazement at the news he had just heard. 

At sight of Darya he went straight to the couch, and 
bent and kissed her hand, murmuring welcomes like an ab- 
normal turtle-dove. 

“There is a boat to take back to Einigen,” said Sonia, 
in answer to Madame’s surprise. “We borrowed it without 
asking leave, and Mr. Verney insists on returning it at 
once. M. Joannot will go with him to help.” 

M. Joannot bowed in most dignified fashion to Verney, 
at mention of his name, and inquired. “Monsieur speaks 
French?” 


ONLY A HAIRPIN! 


77 


“Both French and German, M. Joannot, and I shall be 
very grateful for your assistance. As I don’t know the 
lake well, Mademoiselle feared I might lose myself in the 
darkness.” 

“Monsieur will be perfectly safe in my hands, and row- 
ing is my very great enjoyment.” 

“Then I think the sooner we go the better.” 

“If Monsieur will permit me just one moment. The 
wind is cold on the lake at night,” and with a bow he sped 
away to change into less conspicuous clothing. 

He was back in a miraculously short time, in fact Yerney 
had barely drunk the half-tumbler of wine — which Madame 
with motherly care insisted on, and which tasted to him 
like a blend of port and burgundy and shot new vigour 
through his veins — when M. Joannot reappeared in more 
business-like raiment, with an official-looking peaked cap 
in his hand, and signified his preparedness. 

“A glass of wine before you start, my good Joannot,” 
said Madame. “It is a long course to Einigen and back in 
the dark.” 

“In one hour we should be back,” said M. Joannot, with 
the air of one accustomed to the accurate allotment of his 
time. “Madame ! Demoiselles ! Monsieur !” he compre- 
hended them all in a courtly bow as he drank, and then he 
and Yerney hurried away to the boathouse. 

Arrived there, M. Joannot lit a lantern which hung 
from the roof, and disclosed three boats hung in slings to 
keep them above the wash of the passing steamers. 

“We will take this one,” said M. Joannot. “It is my 
favourite. If Monsieur will insert the handle in the holes 
of the roller — so! — and lower when I do — so! Here are 
cushions. Wood is a hard seat. Here are the oars. Now 
we will attach the peasant boat by its painter. So! Now, 
voyons!” as they nosed out and he peered over his right 
shoulder into the darkness. “We will go straight across 


78 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


and then work down the shore to Einigen,” and they bent 
to their oars, and Vemey found four oars several times 
better than two, when a clumsy, long-prowed peasant 
boat yawed stupidly astern. 

“Monsieur has done a good work in bringing Made- 
moiselle back to us,” said M. Joannot, when they had set- 
tled to their swing. 

“I have been very glad to help, M. Joannot.” 

“And you have been careful to attract no attention, to 
leave no traces ?” 

“None, I think. We were very careful, and kept our- 
selves to ourselves as much as possible.” 

“That is good. One cannot be too careful in such a 
matter.” 

But they neither of them knew anything about that hair- 
pin of Sonia’s. 

“It is not, you know,” continued M. Joannot presently, 
“that they very much wanted to keep her locked up there. 
No one thought any the worse of her for shooting that 
brute — that beast of a man — not a bit! — not the very 
smallest! But the Swiss are a small people, you see, and 
they have to be careful not to give any cause for offence 
among the bigger ones. And so — eh hien — voila! When 
she has had a good rest and got her strength up again, we 
must get her away to England. For, after all, and in 
spite of its most detestable climate, England is the one 
land where one can be free and live in peace.” 

“You have been a long time with Madame, M. Joannot,” 
said Vemey, after a strenuous silence which had reduced 
the lights in the Chateau to mere pin points astern. 

“Over twenty years, Monsieur. A long spell in one’s 
life. But it is a good service. Madame is very rich and 
very generous, and not as eocigeante as some I have known. 
She keeps her people. Not one in the Chateau but has 
been with her ten or fifteen years.” 


ONLY A HAIRPIN! 


79 


“So that, as regards Mademoiselle, they may be safely 
trusted? She is not yet out of danger, you understand. 
And I think it would break her heart if she were sent back 
to that place.” 

“Have no fear, Monsieur. Not one among us all but 
would give everything we possess sooner than harm should 
come to her. How long has Monsieur known her?” 

“Two days,” confessed Yerney, with an involuntary 
smile. 

“And the other — her sister?” 

“Four days.” 

“ Voila ! Monsieur has done all this for them — possibly 
at some risk to himself — and he has known them two and 
four days. And we — we have known them ten times as 
many years. Have no fears, Monsieur! They are quite 
safe with us,” and they rowed on again in silence. 

As they drew in towards the opposite shore, the hoarse 
voices of the Kander rushing over its stony delta into the 
lake fell on their ears, and M. Joannot edged off to the 
south. 

“You know where you got the boat?” he asked in a 
whisper. 

“It was from an open bit of beach the other side of the 
church. I think the house to the left of it was the last 
house along the shore.” 

“I know the place,” and they crept silently along till he 
whispered again, “Here we are,” and let his oars hang by 
their pins, and bent forward and untied the captive behind, 
and drew its prow alongside. 

“Now pull in and we will shove it well ashore, and tft^y 
will get it all right in the morning,” and in another minute 
they were heading back for Unterhofen. 

“They will think some of the villagers have been play- 
ing a trick with them,” chuckled M. Joannot, “and they 
will probably quarrel furiously over it. But as well that 


80 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


as anything, and since they did not see you they cannot 
suspect you,” and he was evidently proud of his share in 
the successful little mission. 

“I love this Thuner See,” he broke out presently. “And 
when one stands much about a fire there is nothing so 
exhilarating as a row all by oneself on the lake. I take 
a pride in my work, you see, and, as Monsieur has doubt- 
less learned in his experience of life, if one wants a thing 
done perfectly one must do it oneself.” 

“Undoubtedly. ” 

“You see, Monsieur, I am artiste. I aim at perfection, 
as a true artiste always must. And it is as possible to be 
artiste in matters of the cuisine as in letters, or music, or 
painting.” 

“Assuredly!” consented Vemey, smiling to himself in 
the dark once more. “In fact, I should say your profes- 
sion makes a wider appeal even than the others, M. 
Joannot.” 

“Wider without doubt,” said M. Joannot emphatically. 
“But whether higher I am sometimes in doubt. After all, 
men’s heads are placed above their stomachs, anatomically 
at all events ; though, mon Dieu, I have known some who 
were practically all stomach.” 

“Not a healthy state of things, that.” 

“ Mon Dieu , no ! That kind always suffers in the end. 
The appetite grows, you understand. It is like drugs — 
the craving becomes the master. For myself, I eat little 
and I drink little, but what I do take, of the best, bien 
entendu, and so my mind is always clear and in condition 
for its finest work. . . . And I have found this 

Thuner See a veritable inspiration at times. Just at sun- 
set on a fine autumn evening it is as though one rowed 
with a couple of big spoons on a lake of iridescent jelly — 
colours of the most wonderful; and the Niesen, over there, 
powdered perhaps with new fallen snow, resembles to a 


ONLY A HAIRPIN! 


81 


degree the exquisite pyramidal spice-pudding which I have 
had the honour of naming after it.” 

“You are a happy man, M. Joannot — to be in love with 
your work and to possess a free hand.” 

“Monsieur speaks feelingly. May I express the hope 
that he is not less happily situated. To be unhappy in 
one’s life work ” 

“Oh, I mustn’t grumble. But the diplomatic service 
palls at times by reason of its forced inaction and hideous 
waste of time. It is possible even to get tired of looking 
perpetually pleasant and doing nothing. That is why it 
is such a mighty joy to have found something really useful 
to do these last few days.” 

“I know, I know. I was not chef at the French Embassy 
in Vienna for close on ten years for nothing, Monsieur. 
Even a chef, with intelligence and an inquiring mind, 
learns something of the under-currents. There is always 
such talk down below, you understand.” 

And presently, thanks to M. Joannot’s intimate ac- 
quaintance with the lake, they ran into the boathouse, and 
Verney went up to the Chateau, bodily very tired, but 
heartily exultant at the success of all his exertions. 


CHAPTER X 


ONLY FOUR DAYS 

I HAVE sent them both away to bed, M. Vemey,” said 
Madame, as she welcomed him back. 

“Quite right!” he said heartily, though, all the 
way across the lake and back, he had been hoping for 
another sight of Sonia. “A good long rest is just what 
they are needing. I hope Mile. Darya was feeling better?” 

“I made them both take a good supper and a hot bath, 
and now all they need is sleep, I think. But I was to take 
them word at once of your safe return. So, if you will 
be so good as to help yourself to all you want, I will tell 
them at once, and then their minds will be at rest and 
they will sleep. All went well?” 

“Thanks to M. Joannot. We left the boat exactly 
where we found it, and never saw a soul.” 

“They will be anxious till they hear, so I will go at 
once. You will excuse me for just a moment or two.” 

He found a delicious little supper awaiting him, with a 
spirit lamp burning under the silver soup tureen, and his 
appetite needed no coaxing. He was making great play 
with cold chicken and ham and tongue, and a large and 
varied assortment of German sausage, when Madame re- 
turned. 

“I do hope you find everything to your liking, M. Ver- 
ney,” and the kind old face was a lesson in anxious hospi- 
tality. 

“I don’t know when I enjoyed anything so much. How 
are the young ladies now, Madame ?” 

82 


ONLY FOUR DAYS 


83 


“They were only keeping awake to hear of your safe 
return. They begged me to thank you again and again 
for all you have done for them. And I join my own thanks 
to theirs. We are under the deepest obligation to you.” 

“Please don’t say any more about it. If you only 
knew how delightful it has been to me to be of some 
little use in the matter, you would see that the obligation is 
all on my side. It has been so refreshing to have a real 
object in life — and so delightful a one.” 

“It is very good of you to regard it so. You think she 
will be quite safe here, for a time, at all events?” 

“I am certain no one can trace us here, and you have 
perfect confidence in your people, I believe. No one about 
who will drop an incautious word outside?” 

“I can trust all my people. They are all old and tried 
servants, and they have known the girls since they were 
children.” 

“Then I should think your mind may be perfectly at 
rest, for the time being at all events. Of course it would 
be safer that she should get right away out of Switzerland. 
That, I think, is the idea, is it not?” 

“Yes, I think she should get out of Switzerland — to 
England if possible. But she must have a few days’ com- 
plete rest. The long confinement has told upon her sadly. 
Such a splendid girl she was, and now !” and her expressive 
sigh told more than her words. . . . “Please smoke, 

M. Verney. I will make your coffee myself.” 

“You are sure you don’t object?” 

“On the contrary. It recalls only fragrant memories,” 
and she busied herself with a little silver cafetiere sus- 
pended over another spirit-lamp. 

“We must hope that freedom and your good care will 
soon restore Mile. Darya to perfect health,’ said Verney, 
as he contentedly lit a cigar. “I am sure she deserves a 
happy time to make up for the past.” 


84 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


Madame shook her head sadly, as she handed him the 
coffee, and picked up a piece of knitting she was at. “It 
is grievous what sorrow the wickedness of one evil man 
can make. Your very great kindness does something to 
restore one’s faith in mankind. No,” — as he waved away 
any further reference to the matter with a deprecating 
gesture. “It is no light thing you have done for us. And 
as to the risk to yourself — I doubt if you have fully con- 
sidered it or even given it a thought.” 

“I assure you it is not worth speaking of.” 

“If you had been caught it would probably have ruined 
your career.” 

“Oh, well — it wouldn’t have mattered. It is terribly 
tedious at times, as you probably know, the life of the 
embassies — a negative kind of life at best. That is, until 
you arrive at the upper air, and have something really 
important to do.” 

“I know. We were in it for very many years until my 
husband died. All the same, I should have regretted it 
deeply if it had spoiled your life. Of course Sonia did 
not know — at first. And then — well, she was crazy to get 
her sister away from that place. They have always been 
very dear to one another. She would have sacrificed her- 
self, or any one else, to carry it through.” 

“She did quite right. I consider myself an uncommonly 
lucky fellow to have turned up just at the right moment 
when I could be of some use in the world. And now, 
please do not say another word about it. Mile. Darya is 
free, Mile. Sonia is satisfied, and I am only too happy to 
have been of service in the matter.” 

The old lady looked across at him with more than a 
touch of thoughtful compunction in her kindly eyes, and 
went on with her knitting. 

“I will show you to your room myself whenever you feel 
so inclined, M. Verney,” she said, when his cigar drew to 


ONLY FOUR DAYS 


85 


an end. “And if you feel like having a hot bath, the bath- 
room is close at hand. There is nothing like a bath, to 
my mind, to take away fatigue.” 

“You are kindness itself, Madame, and with your per- 
mission I will go at once. These last few days have been 
fairly tiring.” 

And when he stretched himself enjoy ably between the 
soft sheets he said to himself, “Is it possible I have known 
her only four days; only — four — days — only — ?” 


CHAPTER XI 


DARK DOINGS 

V ERNEY was wakened next morning by the sound of 
the sweetest singing he thought he had ever heard. 
And, jumping up, he found the sun high and the 
lake all a-ripple with dancing gold just under his window. 

Right across the lake in front was the long tumbled 
pile of the Stockhorn, with its peak humping up into a 
cloudless blue sky, for all the world like a huge saurian 
basking in the sun, every fold and furrow of its wrinkled 
armour bare to the eye. 

Below it, spread like a white fan upon the water’s edge, 
he could see the stony delta of the Kander, and smiled 
happily to himself at thought of the delightful role of St. 
Christopher which it had entailed upon him the night 
before. And Sonia had feared he might drop her ! 

Further along to the left he could make out the scattered 
houses of Einigen, and wondered if the mystery of the boat 
was convulsing the little place out of its usual dull routine. 
Then his eye dwelt with vast enjoyment on the dark wooded 
hill which shelters Spiez, and on the mighty pyramid of 
the Niesen, just sprinkled with fresh white powder, like 
one of M. Joannot’s spice-puddings. 

And, in behind Niesen, that tumbled chaos of gleaming 
white peaks must, he thought, from what he had seen of 
it in their tramping, be the Bliimlisalp, and rarely beauti- 
ful it looked in its fair white mantle of newly-fallen snow. 


DARK DOINGS 


87 


And all the time, as he gazed at the wonders in front, 
from just round the corner came that wonderful sweet 
singing which had mingled with his waking dreams. 

He reconnoitred cautiously, then went to the bathroom 
and enjoyed a cold dip, and dressed, and went down- 
stairs. 

As the only other room he knew was the one where he 
had supped the previous night, he made his way to it, 
found the breakfast things on the table, and a cheerful 
fire of logs crackling and spitting on an open hearth, 
but no one about, so he stepped through the open window 
and strolled along the path under the trees by the lake- 
side. 

It was a most exquisite morning, with a crisp touch 
of autumn in the air and every bush festooned with filmy 
lace all pearled with dew. The kind of morning that made 
the simple act of breathing an active enjoyment, and the 
mere fact of living a cause for liveliest rejoicing; and when 
to that was added the certainty of meeting Sonia within 
the next few minutes — Sonia, who yesterday was Pat and 
to-day would be her own charming self again — then a 
morning of mornings indeed, every moment most precious 
and to be made the very utmost of. 

He looked into the boat-house, with lively memory of 
the previous night, and picked up Darya’s tweed hat which 
had tumbled into a corner. Then he sauntered on till, at a 
bend in the path, he came suddenly on the sight of the 
giants of the Oberland, towering, white and wonderful, 
high into the sky over the southern end of the lake, and he 
stood transfixed and worshipful. 

A light step behind him, and he turned and found Sonia. 

“I’ve come to call you in to breakfast,” she said. “I 
saw you go down this way.” 

He had wondered how she would meet him. Would she 
be just as in those last two delightful days — Pat? 


88 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


Or would she be the Sonia of their second meeting? For 
the Sonia who sprang out at him from behind the beech- 
tree on St. Peter’s-insel was no doubt a quite exceptional 
Sonia, but he was glad he had seen her so. 

Or would she be an entirely new Sonia? For he was 
prepared to credit her, from the little he had seen, with 
a complexity of personality above the ordinary, even in 
women. 

As it turned out it was, to an extent at all events, a 
new Sonia he encountered when he turned — an extremely 
self-possessed and very charmingly dressed Sonia — doubt- 
less the two conditions correlate in some abstruse feminine 
fashion ; a Sonia whose boyish abandon had left her along 
with her boyish garments; a Sonia with her hair done in 
long Oberland plaits, coiled round 1 and setting off the 
shapely little head in an irresistibly delightful fashion ; but 
withal a somewhat unnecessarily, as he thought, shy and 
restrained Sonia. 

“It is the reaction,” he said to himself. “But she can- 
not put off the remembrance of it all as easily as she has 
put off the garments.” 

“How is your sister? And did you both sleep well?” 
he asked, with his eyes upon her face for signs past and 
present. 

“She is still very worn and tired, and I’m afraid we 
neither of us slept as well as we ought to have done. I 
know I was tramping endless hills, and crossing dark 
streams and black lakes all night long. It was a relief 
to wake up and find myself safe in my own room at Unter- 
hofen.” 

“I am sorry. I’m afraid we hastened too much. Per- 
haps if we had taken another day to do it ” 

“No, we did quite right. I don’t think Darya could 
have stood another day. She is to stop in bed all to-day, 
and that I hope will bring her round all right.” 


DARK DOINGS 


89 


“Indeed I hope so.” 

“You had no difficulty last night?” 

“None at all. M. Joannot was invaluable. According 
to him, Einigen will now be quarrelling vigorously as to 
who runs away with boats at night. What a wonderful 
sight that is !” he said, turning to the giants again. “What 
do you call them?” 

“The big one on the right is Jungfrau, then Monch, 
then Eiger. That steeple with the two patches of snow 
on it, like two white doves, is the Finsteraarhom.” 

“They are very wonderful.” 

“Yes, they are wonderful. I have known them half my 
life, but the wonder never palls. Shall we go in now? 
Auntie is waiting for us.” 

“Your sister’s hat,” he said, as she glanced at it in his 
hand. “Better keep it in case it should be needed again.” 

“I hope you, at all events, took full advantage of a 
comfortable bed, M. Verney,” was Madame’s greeting, 
as she met them at the window. “Our girls seem to have 
been too tired to sleep, or too excited. And for myself, I 
was thinking so many things that I too wasted my oppor- 
tunities. And you?” 

“I slept like a top. I’m afraid I’d be sleeping still but 
for some heavenly singing which woke me.” 

“The children in the school-house. Yes, they sing very 
sweetly. It is just behind us here. I like to hear them. 
Please help yourself to the honey. Do you like cheese in 
the morning? It is an Oberland custom. . . . More 

coffee? I hope you won’t find it very dull here, M. Verney, 
for a day or two. You see ” 

“Dull? No, indeed! There is enough to look at from 
that garden walk for months,” he said heartily. “The 
man who could find himself dull in so lovely a place ought 
to be sunk in the lake with a big stone to his neck.” To say 
nothing of the fact that was impressing itself more and 


90 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


more upon him, that, for him, dullness could not possibly 
be where Sonia was. Even though she had suddenly become 
shy and reserved he had known her otherwise, and the shy- 
ness would wear off and she would be all her old self again. 

“Well, for a few days at all events, I have been thinking 
it would be as well if none of you showed yourselves out- 
side. I do not think any but our own people can know you 
are here, and it will, perhaps, be better so. Unterhofen is 
but a small place, you see, and in a small place tongues 
wag famously.” 

“I think you are quite right, Madame, and for myself, 
I assure you, confinement to the garden will be anything 
but a hardship. I think this is one of the most beautiful 
places I have ever been in. 

“I am very fond of it. It is twenty years since I began 
coming here, and I love it each time better than the last. 
You could, of course, go out on the lake after dark, if the 
irrepressible British blood craves an outlet for its vigour,” 
she said with a smile. 

“The irrepressible British blood is very capable of 
adapting itself to its very charming circumstances,” he 
laughed. “Pray do not trouble about me, Madame. I am 
perfectly happy, I assure you. I trust the rest will make 
Mile. Darya quite all right again.” 

“I hope so,” said Madame, thoughtfully, with a pucker 
of the usually placid brow. “It would be very awkward 
if we had to call in a doctor. But I think she is simply 
over-wrought. Rest and feeding will, I hope, set her on 
her feet again. She has gone through terrible trials, poor 
girl !” 

Newspapers were brought in before they had finished 
breakfast, by a soberly-dressed, middle-aged serving- 
woman, who had evidently seized the opportunity of having 
a good look at Verney. 

There was not a word in the papers concerning Darya, 


DARK DOINGS 


91 


and there had not been. The authorities were evidently 
keeping the matter dark, which seemed to Verney highest 
wisdom on their part. They would doubtless strain every 
effort to recover her, he thought, but if they failed there 
seemed no reason why matters should not rest where they 
were and none be the wiser. 

Then Sonia disappeared upstairs to her sister; and 
Madame, after making him free of the rest of the house, 
and showing him where books were to be had, begged him 
to excuse her, and followed her; and Verney strolled away 
along the path by the lake to the bend, and resumed his 
acquaintance with the white giants of the Oberland. 

And, filling his mind and heart, was the marvel of the 
fact that this was Monday, and it was only on Wednesday 
at midday, that he had first met Sonia Beresov; that five 
full days ago he was not even aware of her existence, and 

now ! Well now, he had to confess to himself that he 

was more interested in her than ever he had been in any 
girl before in all his life. And everything he had seen in 
her he approved and rejoiced in. 

She was generous, warm-hearted, impulsive perhaps, 
but staunch and true, and undoubtedly clever and original, 
a splendid comrade, cheerful and spirited and fearless, and 
withal the most beautiful girl he had ever met. 

Oh, he had plenty to think about. Was her heart en- 
gaged elsewhere, he wondered gloomily. He had seen no 
signs of it. But there — in five days one could not learn 
everything, and there was no way of learning. 

It was risky, perhaps, allowing his heart and his 
thoughts to dwell upon her in this way, but he could not 
help himself. How could any man help himself under such 
circumstances ? 

He was devoutly thankful that he was the man subject 
to the trial. It would be unbearable to think of any other 
man 


92 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


She had been very frank and open with him. Still, 
if her heart were given elsewhere, she could hardly have 
proclaimed that fact to him. She had told him what she 
thought necessary, and for the rest he must trust her, as 
she had trusted him. 

He must just dree his weird and hope for the best, hope 
that in this case at all events the gods were not dusting his 
eyes and leading him into paths that could only make for 
loss and bitterness hereafter. 

And there, from the cloudless blue in front, the mighty 
white peaks, calm and serene and majestically aloof, looked 
down on all the strange and anxious little ways of man, 
and to a mind receptive and attuned, suggested deep, high 
thoughts of love and constancy, and, in short, of Sonia, 
and wove themselves into his heart along with a hundred 
delightful memories and thoughts of her. 

Only five days ! — he kept reminding himself. Only five 
days! — and yet she had become an essential part of his 
life, and all his future hopes revolved about her. 

How was it possible that she could, in that short time, 
respond to the feeling that so stirred him? And yet, 
he said to himself exultantly, if it were possible in his case, 
why not in hers? For those five days had been surely quite 
exceptional days, and had broken down the barriers of 
convention, and drawn them together as five years of 
ordinary intercourse might not have done. In those five 
days she had trusted him completely, and he had come to 
love the ground she trod on. 

“Well? And did you manage to pass the morning with- 
out boring yourself to death?” asked Madame, when they 
met again at second breakfast, which in those parts is 
termed dinner, the evening meal being supper. 

“I sat looking at the Jungfrau and thinking about her. 
She is very wonderful.” But the actual “her” of his 
thoughts, in the person of the fair girl sitting opposite to 


DARK DOINGS 


93 


him, was more to him than all the most wonderful moun- 
tains in the world. 

“Yes, Jungfrau is very satisfying,” said Madame. “I 
also have spent many a delightful hour gazing at her. She 
is always wonderful, always beautiful.” 

“I am sure,” said Yerney, with conviction. 

“And she never palls.” 

“Never.” 

“You speak as if you had known her all your life,” said 
Sonia, with a smile at his earnestness. 

“Indeed, I feel as if I had, though it is only five — I 
mean two or three — days, since I first set eyes on her. She 
seems somehow to fill a want in me — as though all my life 
up to now had lacked just what she alone could give.” 

“The embassies surely run to poetry,” laughed Madame. 

“No, it is the Jungfrau who has captured my young and 
impressionable heart. Henceforth I am her most devoted 
slave.” 

“Well, don’t go trying to master her,” said Madame 
quietly. “I have known some who have come to sad 
grief in the attempt” — and Yerney’s hyper-consciousness 
wondered briefly if the old lady’s words held any hidden 
meaning for him. 

But she continued : “I never could understand the craze 
for climbing. I think you Englishmen have it worse than 
any others. Why can’t you be content to worship at a dis- 
tance? I am sure one cannot get from the top such an 
overpowering sense of her beauty as one does from a dis- 
tance — to say nothing of the chances of breaking one’s 
neck or ending under a snowfall.” 

“I suppose it’s largely just that feeling that there is 
something to be mastered. It does tempt one, you know. 
I felt it as I sat there. She seemed to look back at me with 
such calm contempt, as much as to say, “Hands off, Mr. 
Man! You couldn’t do it if you tried.” And a challenge 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


such as that always provokes one to the attempt. But 
we’ve got other things to think about just now. How is 
Mile. Darya?” 

“The rest is doing her much good. She begged me to 
thank you again and again ” 

But he put up a warning finger. “We agreed, I think, 
to say no more about all that. I have been blaming myself 
for want of consideration for her in pressing on so fast, 
but ” 

“If you had not got her here last night she might be 
lying spent somewhere else. She is very much better here, 
and you did* quite right.” 

“It is very good of you to say so, and I will hope that 
she will soon get over the effects and bear me no ill-feeling.” 

“If you heard her talk you would have no fear of that,” 
said Madame. ... “I wonder if they will make any 
very rigorous search for her. I shall never feel she is safe 
till she is out of Switzerland. And that means that we 
must begin to consider the next step — that is, unless” — 
and she hesitated and looked anxiously across at him — 
“unless we are trespassing too much on your time, Mr. 
Verney.” 

“Oh, please don’t think that. I would regret it all my 
life if you didn’t let me see this through — right to the end.” 

“It is truly good of you. But it is much to ask — such 
comparative strangers as we are to you, and you have 
already done so much.” 

“Why, I feel as if I had known you all half my life. And 
besides ” 

“Sonia was telling me that you came to Switzerland for 
a quiet holiday.” 

“I don’t believe I was built to enjoy a quiet holiday, 
whereas this being of some use to somebody is delight- 
fully refreshing and invigorating. It is worth a thousand 
mouldy quiet holidays,” and Sonia smiled at his vehemence. 


BARK DOINGS 


95 


His afternoon was spent in the garden again — gazing 
at one Jungfrau and thinking much of another; teasing 
and feeding an insatiable swan which patrolled the nearer 
waters, with the eye of a tax-collector for anything that 
might be going, and an attendant multitude of small fishes 
who waxed fat on his leavings; enjoying the restful peace 
of the outlook, the lake, the mountains, the far-away, 
sleepy-looking little white villages ; and wishing much that 
Mile. Darya was all right again, so that Sonia could 
have no excuse for spending so much of her time with her. 

“Selfish brute that I am!” he said to himself. “She 
has not seen her sister for two years. It is only natural 
they should want to be together now as much as possible. 
And I’m almost a stranger after all, though I don’t feel 
like one.” 

He got out his maps and pored over them in search of 
the next step. He smoked many cigars. He tramped rest- 
lessly to and fro, with his bodily eyes absorbing all the 
beauties about him, and his mental eyes conjuring up 
visions of the sweet purposeful face, that had come, in 
these five short days, to stand for all that was good and 
beautiful and desirable in life. 

He wished most ardently that they were back in the 
strenuous days that levelled barriers, and made, of de- 
lightful necessity, for closer intimacy and good fellowship. 

But he could wait, for those times must come again 
before long. There was much still to be done before their 
hearts could be at ease concerning Darya, and if only she 
could recover strength sufficient for the occasion, the 
sooner they came the better he would be pleased. 

Sonia’s sudden withdrawal within her shell of maiden 
modesty, as soon as they reached comparative safety, puz- 
zled and amused and slightly provoked him, even though 
all his generous instincts argued constantly in her favour. 


96 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“What else could she have done?” asked Commonsense. 

“Come out here to me and let me worship her,” replied 
Earnest Desire. 

“She has duties elsewhere, and first of all to her sister.” 

“All the same I want her.” 

“Pure selfishness on your part.” 

“Call it something else, and I’ll agree.” 

“You have only known her five days.” 

“But five such days! The richest days of my life! 
Worth any other five years of it !” 

“Does it strike you you are gone slightly crazy?” 

“Yes — for Sonia ! I glory in it.” 

And Sonia, you may be sure, knew all about it. For 
the way in which a man looks at the woman is quite dif- 
ferent from the way in which he looks at any other woman, 
and the woman always knows it, no matter how imperturb- 
able a manner the man may assume. 

He looked forward with the greatest eagerness to meal- 
times, not because he was hungry for food but for Sonia, 
and at table it was his heart’s hunger that he ministered 
to rather than his body’s, though M. Joannot spent him- 
self on the concoction of delicacies that might have made 
the mouth of a mummy water. 

At supper, eager to anticipate a renewal of happiness 
even in thought, and since actual discussion of it gave it 
almost the consistency of fact, he gave them the results of 
his geographical studies concerning the next move. 

“As far as I can see,” he said, with his hopeful eyes on 
Sonia’s face, “our best plan will be to row across to, say, 
Faulensee, just the other side of Spiez — then cross the hills 
into Kanderthal and work over the Gemmi to the Rhone 
Valley, and then, if we can, get through into Italy by one 
of the passes, the St. Bernard, or the Col de Fenetre, or the 
Simplon.” 

“On foot?” asked Madame. 


DARK DOINGS 


97 


“I think it must be on foot, but we will make easy stages. 
There need not, I think, be the pressure there was at first. 
You see, we don’t know at all what the authorities are 
doing, but we must, I think, credit them with the very 
simple idea of watching the regular main outlets, and we 
must avoid them.” 

“It is getting late for the passes,” said Madame, with a 
touch of anxiety. 

“Oh, we will take no risks, no unavoidable risks any- 
way. Taking things easily, we ought to have no diffi- 
culty in getting through all right, and we shall have time 
to pick and choose our way,” and how devoutly he wished 
the time was come and they were on the road again — just 
he and Pat and Jack — and this altogether-too-retired- 
within-her-shell, but otherwise-entirely-charming, Sonia 
left behind at Unterhofen, a delightful but tantalising 
memory. 

For, on the road, she felt herself dependent on him to 
some extent, and his feeling for her could find veiled ex- 
pression in a thousand delicate little ministrations; and 
on the road, unless his previous experience should belie 
itself, her spirits would shake off the trammels which Unter- 
hofen imposed upon them, and would sing and soar like a 
lark released from its cage. 

And so there was meaning in the anxious “And how goes 
Mile. Darya?” with which he always greeted Madame and 
Sonia, and renewal of hope in their repeated assurances 
that the rest was doing her good and she was pulling up 
splendidly. 

“A week’s rest and good feeding would set her up com- 
pletely,” said Madame, with a questioning glance at him. 

Seven whole days, with nothing more than these inter- 
mittent glimpses of Sonia on the other side of the table, 
seemed a terrible long time to him, in spite of the fact 
that he had lived nearly four times as many years quite 


98 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


unaware of her existence. But he stifled his anguish and 
made bold to answer cheerfully — 

“I see no reason why she should not have a full week. 
It would be a pity to take the road again until she feels 
quite able for it.” 

“Fm afraid you will find the garden grown very small 
before the week is up,” smiled Madame a little anxiously. 

“Not a bit, I assure you. It is altogether charming. 
And as soon as it is dark enough I will go for a row to keep 
myself fit.” 

And perhaps it was a fear that, in spite of his brave 
assumption of contentment, over-much loneliness might 
prove too much for a young man who obviously craved 
companionship, that sent a slim cloaked figure stealing 
down the path to the boat-house, when the grinding of 
the ropes on the rollers announced that he was lowering 
the boat. But, again, perhaps it was Madame who sent 
her. 

The expectation of anything so good had been so very 
far from him that he almost tumbled backwards into the 
water, when he turned to get the oars and his eyes fell on 
her in the meagre light of the lantern. 

“Peter’s-insel !” he jerked expletively— from which one 
might possibly draw an inference as to where his thoughts 
had been at the moment of interruption. “What a start 
you gave me, Mademoiselle! Coming for a row?” — still 
somewhat off his base and incredulous of such unexpected 
and quite overwhelming happiness. 

“May I?” 

Might she? Think of it — might she? Might she set 
his lively young heart thumping within him like a triumph- 
ant little drum, and send the red blood dancing through 
his veins like sparkling wine of Asti? Might she fill the 
darkness — inside and outside and generally all round — with 
such a radiance that it seemed incredible that it should 


DARK DOINGS 


99 


excite no remark from possible observers along the lake- 
side? Might she lift him from the shadows of the boat- 
house and his vain longings, which he had been going to 
work off into the water through the oars, into a seventh 
heaven of delight? 

“Step in !” was all he said, after a moment’s play with 
cushions, of which he piled up enough to make a nest for 
her in the stern, and held out his hand. And they nosed 
out of the boat-house and swung away into the outer dark- 
ness, and Verney wondered again that their going excited 
no commotion along the shore. 

This is very delightful of you,” he said presently. “It 
is quite like old times.” 

“Old times of — what is it — five days ago ?” she said with 
an amused laugh. 

“I keep saying that to myself, but it seems incredible. 
It conveys no meaning to me. Circumstances alter cases, 
you see, and I suppose, under certain circumstances, five 
days could hold as much for one as five years,” which was 
capable of various interpretations, and she was not slow 
to adopt her own. 

“I don’t suppose any five years of your life have been 
so full of worry and annoyance as these five days since I 
flew out at you from behind that tree on St. Peter’s-insel.” 

“Worry? Annoyance? I don’t know the words, and I 
think I shall make a yearly pilgrimage to St. Peter’s, just 
to see that that tree is kept in good order.” 

He would have liked to drop his oars and just kneel 
forward, and take her hands, and say, “Sonia, can’t you 
see? You are the woman! Every bit of you, from the 
lovely coils of your hair down to the dainty slipper peeping 
from under your cloak, which I can see in spite of the dark- 
ness, is dear to me — calls to me as nothing in life has ever 
done before.” 


100 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


But a modicum of common-sense was left to him, and he 
said to himself, “Five days! Five days! Too soon! Too 
soon! I must wait and make more sure. For her to have 
captivated me is nothing, for she is beautiful beyond com- 
pare. But what am I, that I should expect anything from 
her in return? In a moment of necessity she accepted my 
help, and she has thanked me more than enough. It is much 
to have earned her thanks and her friendship. If I go too 
fast I may spoil all.” 

He had dropped his head and tightened his lips, as he 
reasoned with himself against his inclination, and sent the 
overplus of his feelings into his oars and pulled with 
dogged vigour. 

A startled exclamation from Sonia, a wild tearing at 
the water with his right, and a furious backing with his 
left, a burst of execrations from beyond, and another 
boat swept past them with no more than an inch or two 
to spare. 

“Confound you ! Why can’t you look where you’re 
going?” burst from him, in good round English and with 
all the natural vehemence of the one in the wrong, and was 
greeted with a broadside of German oaths, which died 
away as he bent to his stroke again. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a laugh. “It was all my fault. 
I was thinking of other things. I’d no idea there was so 
much traffic on the lake at night. I promise you it shan’t 
happen again.” 

“I can swim.” 

“I would never have forgiven myself if you’d been put 
to it.” 

He pulled on strenuously till they were in the denser 
darkness under the wooded hill by Spiez, and the twinkling 
lights of the villages on the opposite side of the lake were 
like a necklace of glittering gold beads on a black velvet 
cushion. 


DARK DOINGS 


101 


“Now which is Unterhofen?” he asked, as he turned 
and hung on his oars. 

“That!” without a moment’s hesitation. 

He pulled on for a time, and then suddenly stopped and 
bent forward. 

“What is it?” she asked quickly. “Tired!” 

“Tired? No. I thought I heard oars behind us. I’d 
had the same idea once or twice before,” and they both 
strained their ears, but heard nothing. 

“We’ll try again,” he said softly. “When I stop, listen 
your hardest, behind there,” and he pulled on again and 
stopped suddenly. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “I heard oars distinctly, but 
they stopped when you did. Can they be following us on 
purpose?” 

“It looks rather like it. What’s the meaning of it, I 
wonder?” 

“Perhaps it’s those people we nearly ran into, and they 
want to know who we are.” 

“We’ll do our best not to let them. They shall have 
a run for their trouble, anyway,” and he swung the boat 
round and pulled straight up the lake towards Interlaken. 

But they were evidently several, and, as he knew by 
experience, four oars are more than twice as good as two, 
and he found it impossible to shake them off. 

“If I pull back, and put you ashore, say a mile or so 
from Unterhofen, will you be afraid to walk back to the 
Chateau?” he asked in a whisper. 

“Afraid? No! But what about you?” 

“It is evident that, for some reason or other, they 
want to know where we belong. I’m going to trick them if 
I can. If necessary I’ll keep them on the go all night.” 

“You won’t get into any trouble with them?” 

“Not if I can help it.” 


102 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


She hesitated for a moment or two, in doubt as to what 
his actual intentions might be. Then she whispered — 

“I will do whatever you think best,” and he turned and 
pulled back the way they had come, but saw no sign 
of the other boat. 

“Will you be able to find the boat-house?” she asked. 

“I’ll find it all right when I want to. When you get back 
you might put out the lantern. I remember we left it burn- 
ing. Leave it in the corner by the door.” 

“This is Gunten!” she said, as they came abreast of 
a cluster of lights. “Anywhere here will be all right for 
me.” 

“You are sure you’ll be quite safe?” 

“I shall be all right. Please don’t get yourself into any 
trouble.” 

“I’ll do my best” — which did not by any means relieve 
her anxiety, but just then the boat bumped gently, and he 
stood up and took her hand, and she stepped lightly ashore. 

He waited for a time to see if the others would come 
in also, but at last, hearing nothing, he pulled straight 
out into the darkness, without, as he thought, making a 
sound. All the same, he had not been rowing five minutes 
when he perceived that they were still after him. 

“Hang ’em! What do they mean by it?” and he swung 
his boat round and waited, listening. He loosened the 
stretcher behind him and laid it on the seat ready for 
action, and then pulled furiously in the direction he had 
heard them last. 

He was by this time quite in the humour for a fight. 
Nothing, at the moment, would have pleased him better 
than to run alongside that other boat and knock answers 
to some very pertinent questions out of its occupants. 
But with its extra power it could outmanoeuvre him, and by 
the time he got there sound had given place to space. 


DARK DOINGS 


103 


But brain can sometimes get the better of brawn, and 
strategy succeed where force has failed. 

With his prow turned in the direction whence the last 
faint indication of the pursuit had seemed to come, he 
back-watered vigorously and sent his boat along stern fore- 
most as though proceeding on his way, and continued this 
method of progression for some minutes until he caught 
once more the wash of the oars behind. 

Then, dipping his blades deep to bring his boat to a 
stand, he bent double with a tremendous reach and sent 
his boat flying back in the opposite direction, and, as he 
had hoped, came into violent collision with his pursuers. 

So sudden and unexpected was his rush, that the look- 
out, kneeling in the bows of the other boat, had time for 
no more than a startled oath when Verney’s craft crashed 
along the side of theirs, swept the oars on that side along 
with it, and bowled the oarsmen head over heels into the 
bottom of the boat. 

Verney sprang up in his rocking craft and laid about 
him right heartily with his stretcher, thundering guttural 
German expletives the while in his gruffest tones. 

The men under the thwarts, dazed and winded by their 
sudden upsetting, lay still; the look-out in the bows cov- 
ered his head with his arms to ward off the flailing blows ; 
it was an easy victory. 

Verney jerked three of the oars off their pins and 
hurled them away into the darkness, then, with a final 
whack all round and another avalanche of guttural Ger- 
man, dropped back into his seat, and pulled quickly away, 
exceedingly well satisfied with himself and very joyful in 
his mind. 

It was close on midnight, and there were not many 
lights in the houses for his guidance, but at length, steal- 
ing cautiously along the Unterhofen shore, he came on the 


104 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


boat-house and was glad to find M. Joannot there, waiting 
to help him with the boat. 

“Did Mademoiselle get home all right, M. Joannot?” he 
asked. 

“Quite all right, Monsieur. And you — you had your 
affair out there?” 

Verney described the affair as they slung and hoisted 
the boat, and M. Joannot chuckled with delight at the 
final episode. 

“Now who could they be, and what did they want, fol- 
lowing you like that, I wonder?” 

“I can’t imagine. By the way, we’d better see to the 
bow of that boat first thing in the morning. I went into 
them with a smash, and it may show signs.” 

“I will see to it, Monsieur. But, mon Dieu , I would like 
very much to know what they meant by it.” 

At the sound of them outside the window, Sonia jumped 
up from the stool on which she had been sitting by the open 
fire and opened and let them in, and her face could not 
conceal the relief she felt at seeing Verney safe and sound. 

“I began to fear something had happened to you. Did 
you see any more of them?” she asked, with an abruptness 
which betrayed anxiety. 

“Oh, yes, we had quite a discussion on the matter, and 
I think I managed to convince them that they really had 
no right to annoy people by following them about in the 
dark like that,” and M. Joannot, with a bow and a mur- 
mur concerning Monsieur and supper, went off chuckling 
with much enjoyment. 

“Did you fight?” she asked, eyeing him squarely. 

“Oh, you could hardly call it that,” he said depreca- 
tingly. “I happened to run into them, and they were a 
bit upset, and I gave them a good talking-to in good full- 
blooded German, and pitched three of their oars over- 


DARK DOINGS 


105 


board, and then I came away. It was very good of you to 
send M. Joannot down to meet me.” 

“You didn’t leave them in the water?” with a startled 
look. 

“Not at all, but they had only one oar left, and it will 
take them some time to get home. How did you get on? 
No trouble, I hope.” 

“No — no. I hope not.” 

“Why? What happened?” 

“I’m not sure that anything happened. I suppose one’s 
conscience makes one a bit nervous ” 

“What was it?” 

“Well, the high-road branches just about where our 
wall begins. One part runs on through Unterhofen and 
along the lake. The other part runs down by our wall to 
the gates of the Chateau and the boat-landing and the 
school. When I got to the place where the roads part, and 
was turning into the one that comes down to the gates, I 
saw a gendarme coming along. I nearly ran into him, and 
he bade me good-night. It seemed to me he might wonder 
who I was if I went straight to the Chateau, so I turned off 
along the high-road, and went on to the cross-road by the 
landing-place, intending to get to the Chateau that way. 
But when I got round to the gate the stupid man had 
tramped back and was standing there, just as if he had 
suspected what I was at and was waiting for me. And I 
got a bit flustered. I thought of turning and going back. 
Then I thought it best to go on. So I rang the bell and 
came in. What he must have thought of me I can’t imag- 
ine. I do hope I haven’t done any harm.” 

“I shouldn’t think so,” he said cheerfully. “The man 
was probably just tramping his round, and it was, as you 
say, just your own larger knowledge of matters that made 
you suspicious of him. I wouldn’t trouble about it, if I 
were you.” 


106 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


But then, of course, he knew nothing of that silver hair- 
pin Sonia had dropped at Noirburg. 

“It is only that, in a village like this, every one knows 
everything, and every one talks. They will know exactly 
who came to the Chateau with Auntie, and it may set them 
wondering how I got here.” 

“Oh well, let them wonder a bit. Before they’ve got to 
the bottom of it we shall be away again,” and he attacked 
the carefully-prepared supper M. Joannot set before him 
with his own august hands, with an appreciation that did 
justice to the master’s skill and the occasion. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE SERGEANT MAKES FOUR 

V ERNEY was quite correct in his estimate of the 
gendarme matter. In itself there was nothing in 
it. 

Hans Rupp had a certain amount of ground to cover, 
with his big slow feet and more or less vigilant eye, in 
a certain time. 

He had strolled up to the high-road expectant of no 
more entertainment than it usually afforded him at that 
time of night. 

He had growled a mechanical good-night to the cloaked 
figure, as he would to any other palpably human being he 
had met. 

He had stood for a moment looking after it, and wonder- 
ing which of the village women it was, and what she was 
doing out so late at night. And then he had turned and 
tramped heavily down to the boat-landing, to take the 
cross-road back into the high-road and so get on towards 
Hilterfingen. 

Even his stolidity was a trifle roused at meeting the 
same woman again, just round the corner as it were, and 
at her going into the Chateau. He had thought they were 
all old women at the Chateau, and somehow this one did not 
give him an impression of antiquity. But since she went 
there it was doubtless all right, and he plodded on his dark- 
some way and troubled his brain no more about the matter. 

But, though one by itself is only one, one and one make 
two, and two and two make four — that is, to the ordinary 
mind. Metaphysicians, I believe, are prepared to under- 

107 


108 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


mine one’s fundamental beliefs in even such elementary first 
principles by disputing each one of these generally 
accepted axioms. 

So, to us ordinary common-sense people, one and one 
make two, and two and two make four, and to Hans 
Rupp — who was anything but a metaphysician — the little 
incident of the late-at-night-walking cloaked woman, who 
went into the Chateau, presented itself as nothing at all 
out of the common, until other matters cropped up, and 
then he remembered it and mentioned it. 

For, while stolid Hans tramped on his black round by 
Hilterfingen, the other parts of the equation were strug- 
gling, with growls and curses, and one oar, and a board 
pulled up from the bottom of the boat, towards the nearest 
shore, and that happened to be the stretch between Gunten 
and Unterhofen, and there, in due course, they brought 
their cargo of ill-humour to safe landing. 

Sergeant-of-gendarmes Peter Wyss, at Noirburg, being 
no metaphysician, when he heard of the escape of a female 
prisoner from Ste. Julienne, put one and one together and 
made a possible two. 

A girl had escaped from Ste. Julienne, along with one of 
the wardresses. Three extraordinary Englishmen — extra- 
ordinary, that is, to Swiss common-sense, though for 
aught he knew it might be the custom for Englishmen to 
wear hairpins — had come into his district and had passed 
out of it — unless they were still within it — by unusual 
routes, without affording him, Peter Wyss, the pleasure of 
setting eyes upon them. 

There was, of course, no obvious connection between 
these matters — not to the ordinary mind, that is. 

But Pet t er Wyss’s official brain, turning things over and 
over like a sausage machine, evolved this string of possibili- 
ties. Escaped girl and wardress would not be likely to 
wander about the country in their usual attire. Therefore 


THE SERGEANT MAKES FOUR 


109 


they would adopt a disguise. Three hairpin-wearing Eng- 
lishmen have been seen, but have disappeared. Hairpins 
inevitably suggest girls, even though Englishmen may have 
sunk so far from manliness as to wear them also. Is it 
possible that the hairpin-wearing Englishmen and the es- 
capees from Ste. Julienne are the same? 

It was worth looking into, anyway. So Dummkopf, 
the blue policeman, who brought first word of the hair- 
pin, was laughed at for his foolishness, and Sergeant 
Wyss set out to look into things on his own account. 

The three unusual Englishmen had left Noirburg but 
never reached Plaffeyen. Therefore they quitted the road 
somewhere between these two points. If — and as regarded 
the next link in his sausage chain all depended on that if — ■ 
if the escaped prisoner and the wardress had in some way 
metamorphosed themselves into three hairpin-wearing Eng- 
lishmen — which, on the face of it, presented certain diffi- 
culties, though not perhaps insuperable ones — it seemed 
likely to him that they would naturally endeavour to get 
as far away from Ste. Julienne as possible. Therefore 
they would go east. 

And so — at the point where the Plaffeyen road sweeps 
to the east to get round Guggisberg — he started on his 
search and presently came on the scent, fairly hot, at 
Reiffenmatt. 

“Three tourists? Yes, surely! Sophie Annacher had 
spoken of such; or was it Anna Nufer? One or other, any 
way, and there they were, both of them, in the meadow 
over there with the goats. So — phie ! An — na ! Here ! 
You’re wanted. Now which of you was it saw the three 
tourist gentlemen walking over the hills on Sunday. Ah, 
I thought all the time it was Sophie, but I couldn’t be 
certain, because they’re always together as a rule. Now, 
Sophie, tell the Herr Sergeant all about them, there’s a 
good girl! And look up at the Herr Sergeant when you 


110 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


speak, and don’t sniff! Ah, you saw them and that was 
all! You didn’t speak to them nor they to you? No? 
And which way were they going now? Ah, towards Aug- 
stein! And they all had sticks and riicksacs, and one of 
them was singing. And what was he singing now? Ah, 
‘Roselein auf der Heider,’ one of the songs you have at 
school. And that’s all you know about them? All right, 
Sophie, and thank you !” 

So to Augstein, and a blank. But a cast round, on the 
bare supposition that the travellers might possibly have 
their own reasons for not desiring to court observation, 
and here is an ancient man watching over a cow on the 
slope towards Mager Bad, who affirms that he saw, with 
his own eyes, three men walking along the side of Schupfen 
on Sunday. Taking it quite easy they were. Ay, they 
might be going by the head of the Langeneywald to Gurni- 
gel, and then again they mightn’t. He’d seen them, but he 
hadn’t watched them. He’d got his cow to look after, 
and that took all his time without watching every fool man 
that crossed the hills. All right, Herr Sergeant, and many 
thanks for nothing. If the Herr Sergeant had ever had 
a cow such as this to look after, he’d know what devilment 
she could be up to if you took your eyes off her for so 
long as it took to light a pipe, if so be as you happened to 
have any tobacco about you. Oh, well, since the Herr 
Sergeant is so good — after all a pipeful is always a pipeful 
— well, yes, the three Herren had gone off along Seehbuhl, 
and if you put it to him straight it was in his mind they 
were making for Blumenstein, the other side of the hill. 

And when the Sergeant had panted over the shoulder 
of Seehbuhl and saw the Thuner See shimmering in the 
distance below, it seemed to him that if he himself were 
an escapee from Ste. Julienne, which the gods forbid ! he 
would certainly try to put that great sheet of water be- 


THE SERGEANT MAKES FOUR 


111 


tween himself and possible pursuit, for water is a prime 
breaker of scent. 

So he set out boldly for the lake, and arrived, by way 
of Moos and the crossways, at the high-road, and so to 
Gwatt, wearier and sorer of foot than he had ever been 
in his life, and to his great disgust found Gwatt pain- 
fully and absolutely ignorant on the only matter that 
interested him. 

After rest and refreshment he toiled back to Einigen. 

Englishmen? No, no one in Einigen had set eyes on 
any Englishmen. Bad enough that one’s own village folk 
should take to playing tricks on their neighbours which 
fell but little short of stealing. Herr gott , yes ! and steal- 
ing it would have been if they’d been caught at it. And 
just let me tell you — for the benefit of the guilty parties 
in case they should be within hearing — that next time it 
happens there’ll be a charge of small-shot that will travel 
faster than a boat. 

What’s it all about, Herr Sergeant? Why, it’s this 
way. Last night — and Sunday night, no less — some rascal 
helped himself to one of our boats. No — wish we did. 
If we know who it was he’d hear about it, and maybe in a 
way he wouldn’t like. 

Oh, yes, he brought it back in time, some time in the 
night when everybody was asleep and so nobody saw him. 

What’s that, Herr Sergeant? Where can one go to 
from here? Why, anywhere on the lake, of course. That 
place straight across ? Why, that’s Unterhofen. Oh, yes, 
we could put you across there, of course. But one’s time 
is valuable, you see. Oh well, if you put it in that way 

And so when, half-way across, the sergeant with his 
head full of prisoners escaping in the guise of English- 
men, came within an ace of running into a boat from which 
came an objurgative exclamation in what was neither 
French nor German, but what he took to be English, he 


112 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


believed — and rightly enough, as we know — that he had 
got hold of the end of his puzzle, and that if he could only 
run it to earth he would find all he had been seeking. 

The rest we know. 

At the Unterhofen police-station, when, after much 
weary toil with one oar and a piece of board, he reached 
it, he inquired anxiously as to any new arrivals in the 
village within the last day or two, and was disgusted to 
learn that none such were known of. 

Then Hans Rupp came in from his round, heard what 
was toward, and contributed his quota, and the Sergeant 
pricked up his ears and took heart again. 

“And you did not know the woman?” 

“I did not, Herr Sergeant, but then she had a big cloak 
all over her, head and all. Still I do not think she was of 
the village.” 

“And she went into the Chateau?” 

“That she did, I swear.” 

“Who lives at the Chateau?” 

“The Countess is there just now. She comes every year 
almost.” 

“When did she come this year?” 

“Oh, last week some time. Wednesday was it — or 
Thursday ?” 

“And who has she with her?” 

“Just the same as usual. M. Joann ot, the chef, and 
her old housekeeper, and two or three old servants. It is 
not a large household, and all old, and as ugly as sin.” 

“And the woman you saw to-night?” 

“Ah, I cannot say as to her, Herr Sergeant.” 

“And none of you have seen or heard anything of three 
Englishmen, walking, with rucks acs ?” 

“All the Englishmen have gone a month ago. The 
place was full of them, but they go with the weather, you 
understand. There has not been an Englishman here for 


THE SERGEANT MAKES FOUR 


113 


two, three weeks now. The hotels are closing up, you 
see.” 

“Well, I’m about dead beat. Where can I get a bed 
and something to eat? To-morrow we will see.” 

And as he ate and drank, and after he had gone to bed 
too tired to sleep, the Herr Sergeant put his one to his 
one, and his two to his two, and thought he saw four as 
the result, and believed that his time had not been wasted. 


CHAPTER XIII 


IN THE NET 

M JOANNOT was up very early next morning, and 
he had just finished re-varnishing the abraded 
bows of the boat, when he heard the quiet wasli 
of an oar on the water outside the boat-house. 

The doors, fastened by stout iron hooks on the inside, 
were made of strong wooden slats, sloped downwards so 
as to admit the air and give free play to the waves of pass- 
ing steamers but to keep out the warping sun. Through 
these, in consequence of the angle at which they were set, 
it was impossible to look straight into the house, but broken 
and distorted views might be obtained by bending down at 
the doors and peeping upwards, and M. Joannot heard 
the soft bump of a boat against the door, and saw two 
heads bending down and peering intently up into the semi- 
darkness. 

There was plenty of cover inside, however, and a step 
took him behind a sail which had been hung up to dry and 
never furled. 

“We can see nothing here,” said one of the ogling heads. 
“Can’t we get inside ?” 

“We’ll have to climb up the wall there, and then it’ll 
be locked,” said the other. 

“We’ll try anyway. It’s important we should know if 
that boat came in here,” and they hauled their craft along 
towards the lake-side wall, into a gap in which the boat- 
house was built. 

M. Joannot stepped noislessly to the door, took the key 
inside, locked it and put the key in his pocket, and was 
behind his sail again before the inquisitors in the boat had 
scaled the wall. 


114 


IN THE NET 


115 


He heard them at the door. They shook it, and swore 
at it, and peeped through the keyhole, but they could get 
no farther without resort to violence, and of that, on mere 
suspicion, he had no fear. And presently, with muttered 
comminations on a custom that barred original research 
into one’s neighbour’s private affairs, the disappointed ones 
dropped into their boat and pulled away, and M. Joannot 
went back to the house and bent his mind to menus. 

“She will be down for breakfast,” said Sonia, in answer 
to Verney’s usual inquiry as to her sister. “The complete 
rest has done her good, but I don’t think she is very strong. 
That hideous place has taken a good deal out of her. How 
long do you think we can safely stay here before we must 
set out again?” 

“I’m afraid that must depend on circumstances, but we 
must try to make shorter stages next time,” and his heart 
sang aloud that the shorter the stages the longer the 
journey would be. 

“It might be wise to prepare as far as you can for a 
start at any moment,” he said presently. “Then, if the 
necessity arises, no time will be lost.” 

“If they could have just two or three more days,” said 
Madame, anxiously. 

“We won’t move until we have to, I promise you — not 
until you yourself see that it is inevitable, Madame. For 
their sakes I wish the necessity may not arise, but we can- 
not absolutely count on that.” 

“She will have to go, of course. I feel all the time that 
her only safety lies outside Switzerland. But every day’s 
rest she can get is a gain to her, and truly she needs it 
all.” 

“Yes, I’m sure. But we will be more considerate of her 
next time, and take things very easily.” 

When he stepped out through the window for his morn- 
ing stroll along the terrace and a smoke, M. Joannot 


116 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


popped a white-capped head from behind a corner and 
signalled caution with a lifted finger. 

“What now, M. Joannot ” 

“I think, Monsieur, it would be advisable not to show 
yourself on the lake-wall to-day, if you do not mind . 55 

“Oh — ho! What’s up now? Enemy on the prowl ? 55 

“They were at the boat-house early this morning, try- 
ing to get in to look at the boats. Fortunately I was 
inside and the door was locked. And if Monsieur will be 
so good as to glance through the trees out there he will 
see — what ? 55 

“I see a boat out there — fishing, I should say . 55 

“And, unless I am mistaken, Monsieur will see it there 
all day. Fishing? — oh yes, without a doubt but not for 
anything they hope to get out of the lake . 55 

“Spying on us, you think ? 55 

“I think so, Monsieur, though I cannot see why . 55 

Verney told him of Sonia’s meeting with the gendarme in 
the road. 

“It is possible that may have roused their suspicion, 
though, indeed, that alone seems small ground for blockad- 
ing us like this , 55 he said thoughtfully. Then, “ Tenez , 
Monsieur, come with me,” and he led the way inside, and 
sped swiftly up many stairs to the top storey of the tower, 
and peering through first one window and then another, 
laid his hand on Verney 5 s arm and murmured, “Yes, truly, 
there is something at work of which we are not aware. You 
see? They are watching us on this side also,” and sure 
enough a blue gendarme was standing stolidly by the boat- 
landing, whence he could command all the approaches to 
the Chateau on that side. 

“Yes,” nodded Verney. “Now, I wonder how on earth 
they’ve located us. It seems to me we must be ready to 
flit again, M. Joannot. They’re not likely to come right 
in on us, I suppose?” — with just a touch of anxiety. For 


IN THE NET 


117 


actively assisting the escape of a prisoner was one thing, 
and actively opposing inquisitive authority by force was 
another and of a much more serious complexion, though, 
for Sonia’s sake, he would have stopped at nothing. 

“I should not think it,” said M. Joannot. “But one 
never knows. It might be well to think of getting away, 
Monsieur. If they give us till to-night we can manage it 
all right. I had thought not to disturb the ladies, but in 
view of this” — with a jerk of the head towards the watcher 
outside — “I’m afraid it is inevitable. Is Mile. Darya capa- 
ble of going on yet?” 

“She is fairly fit again, they say. But we shall have to 
take things easier. She is not very strong.” 

“You had better prepare them, and it would be as well 
that none of you should be seen from that boat, you under- 
stand. There is ample room to walk in the garden quite 
out of sight of the lake, and we are not overlooked on the 
other side.” 

“I will see them at once,” and with a last look at the 
boat on the lake and the gendarme at the landing-place, 
they went down the many stairs somewhat more thought- 
fully than they had mounted them. 

Vemey found one of the old servants, and sent her in 
quest of Sonia, who appeared presently with a face alert 
for the meaning of his summons. 

“I’m afraid we may have to move on sooner than we 
hoped,” he began. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked quickly. 

“We are blockaded before and behind. M. Joannot 
has just had me up into the tower. There is a boat out 
there on the lake, apparently fishing, he says watching, and 
on shore there is a gendarme with his eye on the gate of the 
Chateau. Would you like to see them?” 

“Yes” — breathlessly, and they sped together up the 
many stairs again. 


118 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“What can they mean?” she panted hotly. “What right 
have they ” 

“Oh, well, you know,” he laughed. “If it comes to 
rights they might make out a pretty good case of their 
own. But what can have set them on our track I can’t 
imagine. They’re a sight smarter than one would ever 
have believed. They were at the boat-house early this 
morning, trying to get a sight of that boat we had last 
night.” 

“Why?” 

“It ran into them, you know, and was bound to get a 
bit scratched.” 

“Perhaps it is that they’re after,” she caught at the 
hope. “They want to pay some one back for — well, for 
whatever you did to them.” 

“That would hardly account for such comprehensive 
measures. There must be more in it, I think, than that. 
They’ve lighted on something, or think they have, but I 
can’t imagine what. Anyway I’m afraid it means an early 
move. M. Joannot advises to-night.” 

She tapped the ground impatiently with her foot. 

“I did want another day or two for Darya ” 

“If we can safely do it she shall certainly have them. 
But we don’t want to come into actual collision with the 
authorities, if we can help it. Of course if they tried to 
get in we might have to keep them out, and that might 
become serious.” 

“Did they get into the boat-house this morning?” 

“No. M. Joannot locked himself in and waited there 
till they had gone. I wonder, now, if he could learn any- 
thing outside?” and they went downstairs to suggest it to 
him. 

And as they went : “I believe you are glad to be thinking 
of moving on again, Mr. Verney,” said Sonia. 


IN THE NET 


119 


“I would stop here a month to suit you and Mile. 
Darya.” 

“But, all the same, you like the road better.” 

“It was very delightful, wasn’t it?” he confessed. “But 
I hope you don’t think ” 

“If I did we would not be going with you. I suppose 
it is natural for a man to want to be doing something. 
We women, you see ” 

“You, at all events, have done more than most, and 
done it well. I’ve a feeling that we’re going to get out 
of this tangle all right and get right through to safety.” 

“You make me feel hopeful too. It is good to be of a 
cheerful disposition.” 

Nevertheless, if she had told him all that was in her 
mind, he would have discovered in it a slight feeling that 
it was his wilfulness of the previous night, in inflicting 
chastisement on their pursuers, which had led to the 
blockade of this morning, and she was by no means 
assured that there was anything more in the latter than 
a desire for satisfaction on the part of the chastised ones. 

The day passed quietly. But all day long the fishing- 
boat lay out there, and seemed to catch nothing. In truth 
a most patient and persistent fisherman ! 

In view of a possibly earlier move than they had intend- 
ed, Darya was prevailed upon to take all the rest she 
could get, by way of storing up energy against contingen- 
cies, and Sonia busied herself upstairs in such preparations 
as it was possible for her to make. 

It was not until after supper that M. Joannot went out 
to do some private shopping, and incidentally to pick up 
any news that was going. On his return he came straight 
to the dining-room, where Sonia and Madame and Yerney 
sat by the fire awaiting him. They saw at once by his 
face that he had gathered something of importance. 

“It was at Truller’s my tobacconist’s, that I heard. It 


120 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


was a sergeant of gendarmes from Noirburg, who was 
crossing from Einigen last night when you ran into his 
boat,” he said, looking at Verney, and Sonia looked at him, 
too, with the little accusing touch in her eye. “They lost 
their oars and only get here early this morning. But that 
is not the trouble. He is inquiring for three tourist Eng- 
lishmen who left Noirburg on Sunday morning for Plaf- 
feyen, and never arrived there;” and Sonia flushed briefly 
at her previous misjudgment. “ Voila , Mesdames! With 
permission, it seems to me that you should resume your 
journey without delay,” and Sonia jumped up, in no little 
agitation at the unwelcome news. 

“Why can’t they leave us alone? I wonder how on 
earth they discovered us.” 

“They probably only suspect, so far. But from what 
M. Trailer says, this sergeant is evidently a pushing man, 
and he must have a head on his shoulders to have got so 
close as this. Will you go on to-night, Mademoiselle?” 

“I’m afraid we’ve no choice. What do you say, Mr. 
Verney?” 

“It seems to me that the sooner we put a few score 
mites between us and this pushful sergeant the better.” 

“I will prepare Darya. But — stay ! If they are looking 
for three Englishmen ought we to travel as before?” 

“I was just thinking of that. But, you see, we shall 
make for new districts where they have not heard of these 
three Englishmen ” 

“Unless this man telegraphs all round as soon as he finds 
we are gone.” 

“He might do that, of course. Still I’m inclined to think 
that disguise is the safest ” 

“With permission, Monsieur, from what I could gather 
he is not very likely to telegraph. The chances are that 
he sees possibilities for himself in this affair, and will try 
to keep it to himself and get all he can out of it. He could 


IN THE NET 


121 


have telegraphed here from Noirburg, you see, but he pre- 
ferred to come himself.” 

“Very well reasoned, M. Joannot. He sees promotion, 
so he will keep the scent to himself.” 

“Then we will go as before. How soon?” asked Sonia. 

“From here about three in the morning,” said M. 
Joannot, who had evidently been planning it all in his 
mind, and Sonia sat down again. 

“And how do we get past the blockading squadron, M. 
Joannot?” asked Vemey. 

“At two o’clock I shall start out in a boat with old 
Barbara,” and the dark eyes twinkled merrily in the pallid 
face. “You will be all ready with the other boat. You 
will watch and listen. The chances are that the spy-boat 
will signal to the shore and follow me. Possibly the Ser- 
geant will follow in another boat. You must wait and see. 
That is what I would do if I were in his place. If that 
happens, then your course is clear. You go right across 
to Faulensee, leave the boat aground as far away from the 
houses as possible, and I will come round for it later, and 
I will do my best to get it home unseen.” 

“Capital! You are a treasure, M. Joannot,” which M. 
Joannot accepted with a smiling and acquiescent bow. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THROUGH THE NET 

M ATTERS fell out very much as M. Joannot’s acu- 
men had foreseen. 

At two o’clock they bade farewell to Madame, 
and she clung to the girls as though she feared to let them 
go, and kissed them as if it were for the last time. Darya 
still looked somewhat worn and tired, and the faces of 
both were pale and anxious, for this hurried flight in the 
dark gave them a feeling of impending danger, which 
cheery words were powerless to remove. 

“God keep you, my dears !” said the old lady fervently. 
“Let me know as soon as you are in safety and I will come 
at once.” 

Then they stole away to the boat-house, and found M. 
Joannot and old Barbara awaiting them, and the boats 
ready in the water. 

“With Madame’s permission, I have improved upon my 
original plan, Monsieur, to this extent,” whispered M. 
Joannot. “The boat you will take is our oldest. When 
you are safe ashore put in some boulders and knock a hole 
in it, and push it well out from the land, and it will tell 
no tales. The water is very deep out there. You see, 
I might have been seen bringing it home, and it is best to 
be on the safe side.” 

“That is well thought of, M. Joannot. Any further 
suggestions now?” 

“You will wait, Monsieur, till you are quite sure that all 
who are going to follow us have passed,” he whispered. 
“Then pull out somewhat to the north for five minutes, and 
then go right down past Spiez to Faulensee. The spy boat 

122 


THROUGH THE NET 


123 


is out there. You will see if they signal to the shore. That 
is all. Mesdemoiselles, with all my heart I wish you God 
speed and bon voyage! Adieu !” 

He assisted old Barbara noislessly into the boat, and 
slowly pushed open the doors of the boat-house. 

Verney as noiselessly handed the girls into the other 
boat, with a whispered caution against the slightest sound. 

“Adieu ! adieu !” whispered M. Joannot, and hauled his 
boat along by the open door, and was swallowed up by the 
darkness. The others sat peering out into the night. 

M. Joannot had greased all the pins, and he went off so 
noiselessly that Verney feared the watch-boat might not 
discover him. Possibly the same idea occurred to M. 
Joannot himself, for, from the direction in which he had 
gone, there came the unmistakable sound of an oar in the 
water. 

Instantly a tiny spark pricked the darkness over in the 
direction of the w T atch-boat, and their straining ears caught 
the sound of oars going off after M. Joannot. 

Vemey’s attention was concentrated on what should 
follow r . But no second boat came, and he edged out into 
the lake and waited anxiously. 

No sign of a boat! Could they possibly have fathomed 
M. Joannot’s intention, and declined to be misled? His 
anxiety grew. Then Sonia laid her hand on his arm. 

“The other boat has gone from the landing-place. 
Listen !” and sure enough they heard the throb of oars 
from the other side of the Chateau, where the village boats 

lay- 

“We will give them three more minutes,” he whispered, 
and when he calculated they were up, bent to his oars and 
drove the boat towards the middle of the lake with long 
noiseless strokes. 

Sonia had wanted to help him, but he begged her to 
reserve her strength. Perhaps also he thought that two 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


124 

oars in his own hands would make less noise than four 
between two of them. In any case nothing could have been 
more silent than their progress. Save for the ripple at 
their bows, they sped along the black water like a darker 
patch of shadow. 

Past the low-lying shore of Einigen — past the solid 
blackness of the hill of Spiez ; — past Spiez itself, all asleep, 
with only a dim light here and there — past the feathery 
darkness of the Biirghill with Faulensee sleeping below it; 
then a searching quest along the rocky shore for a landing- 
place, a pull with the left, and the boat’s nose grated for 
the last time on shingle. 

Vemey handed the girls ashore, sought out rocks of 
size and laid them noiselessly in the boat, then with the 
butt of an oar started a plank, and pushed the boat out 
as far as he could manage it. 

“Dear old boat!” murmured Sonia. “I have known it 
for years. It feels cruel to kill it like that.” 

“I know,” said Verney softly, “But it is safest so, and 
M. Joannot, advised it. I will carry the oars a bit and 
then hide them. Shall we get on?” 

They moved silently up the rising ground in the strange 
dim twilight that precedes the dawn, and upon all their 
spirits the circumstances of this new and hastily enforced 
pilgrimage hung a little heavily as yet. 

Even Vemey, eagerly as he had been longing for it, and 
with such joyful anticipation, felt a slight sense of de- 
pression. But he said to himself that it was all on the 
girls’ account, and truly, for them, and for Darya especi- 
ally, he acknowledged that it was hard to be forced to flee 
like this in the night — all the comforts and tender care 
of Unterhofen behind — all the toils and unknown possibili- 
ties of the future in front. In a word, they were all feeling 
something of the Anxious foreboding of the hunted, with- 


THROUGH THE NET 


125 


out, for the moment, the exhilarating experiences of the 
previous escape. 

The girls climbed on without a word. Yerney carried 
their rilcksacs and the oars, till he came upon a convenient 
thicket of rank grass and bushes into which he pushed the 
latter out of sight. 

“Now, Mademoiselle,” he said to Darya, “you will please 
take my arm.” 

“Oh, I’m not tired yet,” she panted. 

“Of course not. But I’m going to be a very strict 
tutor this time. My pupils are not to be allowed even the 
chance of over-tiring themselves, and this uphill start takes 
one’s breath.” 

They dropped into the road at last, and turned to the 
left along it. It was not yet four o’clock, and they had 
it all to themselves. 

“Thanks to M. Joannot, we have made an excellent start 
and left no trace behind us,” said Verney cheerfully. “I 
wonder how he and old Barbara have got on, and what the 
pushing gentleman from Noirburg will do next? Anyway 
I don’t think we need trouble our heads about him. We 
have plenty of time before us, and we are just going to 
jog easily along like this, and get all the pleasure out of 
our little trip that we can. The moment either of you 
feel the first premonition of tiredness you are to say so, 
and we stop for a rest. I wonder if you thought of soaping 
your stockings.” 

“We did,” said Sonia. “Mine are clammy and uncom- 
fortable yet.” 

“Better too much than too little. You’ll feel the benefit 
presently.” 

“How many days will it take us, Mr. Verney?” asked 
Darya. 

“Well — let us see. But you’re not tired yet?” and he 
looked down anxiously at her. 


126 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“No, no, I’m not tired. I was just wondering. It is 
pleasant to look forward to the end” — which, after all, was 
a matter dependent entirely on one’s point of view. For 
himself he was looking forward to the journey itself in- 
finitely more than to its end. 

“Well — we shall presently walk quietly across those 
little hills over there on the right, and drop down into the 
Suld Thai, and from there in due course make our way over 
into the Frutigen Thai, somewhere about Kien. In that 
way we shall avoid the high-roads altogether. We won’t 
go into Frutigen itself, but will try for accommodation 
at Schwandi or Weissey. Then to-morrow we have a choice 
of routes. We can keep along the high-road to Ivanders- 
teg — or we can strike into the Engstligen Thai and so get 
to Adelboden and across country in time to the Gemini. 
The advantage of that is that there are bridle paths on the 
other side of the river all the way up the valley, and we 
would never need to touch the high-road at all.” 

“That’s the road for us,” said Sonia. 

“It is somewhat longer ” 

“But undoubtedly safer, and time is of no consequence 
to us” — a sentiment which chimed absolutely with his 
heart’s desire. 

“The Engstligen Thai then, and that should land us 
somewhere near Adelboden to-morrow evening. We avoid 
the village, of course. Then next day we make our way 
across to the Gemmi Road, and take things very easily 
over the high ground. The following day, we come down 
by the Dauben See and the Galleries, and sleep somewhere 
— I don’t know where yet. Past Leukerbad next day — all 
down hill now, and so to Leuk, if we think well — or to 
Varen up in the hills, if we think better. From there — 
that is, from the Rhone Valley, we have large choice of 
ways, and can choose the pleasantest when we get there. 
But I am looking forward to this easy tramp among the 


THROUGH THE NET 


127 


hills to set you both up and bring you in fitter at the end 
than at the start.” 

“If we avoid the beaten tracks,” said Sonia, “I don’t 
see how that objectionable man from Noirburg can ever 
hear of us, and we can take things as easily as we please,” 
which again was quite to his mind. 

“Oh — look!” said Sonia breathlessly, just as they were 
about to turn off the road to take the further slope. 

And there, away up above the lower world of sleep, 
where the shadows still lingered grayly, the snowy crowns 
of the Jungfrau and the Monch and Eiger had suddenly 
peeped out, glowing softly in the first rays of the rising 
sun. Just the topmost peaks washed with liquid gold 
hung there in the thin upper air, so ethereal and heavenly 
in their sublime detachment that they looked as if an in- 
cautious breath might blow them away. 

“Oh — beautiful ! beautiful ! beautiful !” murmured Darya. 
“I have never seen anything so beautiful as that.” 

“We will take it as an omen,” said Verney softly. 

“Think of being buried on a peak like that, that caught 
the first rays of the sun each day,” said Darya. 

“We won’t think anything of the kind,” he replied cheer- 
fully. “It’s much nicer to think of being alive and enjoy- 
ing the sight of it from the outside. I believe you’re feeling 
hungry. In half an hour we shall get the sun on top of the 
hill here, and then we’ll sit in it and pass compliments on 
M. J oannot’s provisioning. That will be miles away better 
than being buried up there in the snow.” 

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, with her eyes still fixed 
intently on the glowing peaks. “They are so restful, so 
peaceful, so ... so heavenly,” and there was that 
in her voice which spoke, with an eloquence beyond words, 
of all she had suffered, all she still feared, all she most 
longed for. 


128 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


The golden light flowed down the peaks, the shadows 
below began to thin, the gray veils showed tints of colour 
through them, the nearer heights — the Morgenberg in 
front, Niessen behind, and the wild piles of the Bliimlisalp 
— all caught the glory, and glowed with the fervour of 
sun-worshippers. 

“It is the silence of it all that is so wonderful,” said 
Sonia. “They seem as if they all ought to be singing 
their loudest.” 

“I was just thinking that very same thing,” said Verney. 
“What a singing it would be if they could ! ‘The morning 
stars sang together, and the sons of God shouted for joy. 5 ” 

“Who was it said that?” she asked quickly. “I knew 
there was something on my mind.” 

“An old gentleman called Job, who suffered much tribu- 
lation but came out all right in the end. Now boys, the 
brae ! the brae ! and a stout heart to it !” and they ^urned 
and climbed the eastern hill. 


CHAPTER XV 


ROUGH QUARTERS 

4 4 TWT OW, Pat, my boy,” and the dark blue eyes shot 
a quick glint at him, half surprise and more 
than half amusement, with still some space 
left for understanding. “Oh, we must get down to our 
respective roles, you know, or we may forget ourselves 
when we oughtn’t to,” he said, in reply to the glint. “If 
you’ll spread your cloak on that fairly dry rock we’ll bid 
M. Joannot good-morning,” and he proceeded to lay out 
the provisions. 

“Roast chicken — a la Joannot — most thoughtfully 
carved, and all put together again so that it looks as if 
it had never known a knife in its life! Rolls, butter — • 
those little curly scrolls of ham would set a mummy’s mouth 
watering! — one, two, three separate and divers kinds of 
sausage; a pot of honey, three small bottles of sparkling 
Asti, two surely for the aged professor and one between 
them for the boys ! — a number of most delicious little 
cakes — a piece of cheese — Brie, unless I am mistaken! — 
a Lucullian feast, oh, most worthy M. Joannot! Would 
that you might cater for my old age !” 

“You would probably wax stout and get out of condi- 
tion,” laughed Sonia. 

“Never! Not under the forethoughtful care of M. Joan- 
not! We discussed such matters on the lake the other 
night.” 

“What an inspiring theme! And how you must have 
enjoyed yourselves!” 


129 


130 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Oh, we did, I assure you. The essence of polite con- 
versation, you see, is to lead a man to speak on the subject 
he knows best. M. Joannot is an artiste — a master. Eat 
little, drink little, but always of the very best ! Th&t was 
his text and the burden of his discourse. If you eat too 
much you lose the finer powers of perception in matters 
gastronomic. If you drink too much — well, I do not need 
to enlarge upon that head, and that is why I suggest that, 
in putting in three bottles of Asti, M. Joannot undoubt- 
edly intended two for the preceptor and one for the 
pupils.” 

“Now, candidly,” he broke out again, as they sat enjoy- 
ing their breakfast and the prospect below and around 
them, “have you ever eaten under more delightful condi- 
tions? This sweet air is finer than any sauce man ever 
dreamed of. That glimpse of the lake through that gap 
there, and the green and white giants all round us, are as 
titillating to the higher senses as M. Joannot’s forget-me- 
nots are to the lower.” 

“Eorget-me-nots ?” said Sonia, gazing at him. 

“Undoubtedly forget-me-nots ! I am quite sure that 
when the worthy M. Joannot was busying himself on this 
provisioning, he said to himself : ‘And as they eat, per- 
chance a thought of me may supervene.’ And so it shall! 
Boys, I give you, with all my heart and with the greatest 
satisfaction — Monsieur Joannot! — the Founder of the 
Feast !” and then in the varied tones of a public meeting he 
called “Monsieur Joannot! Monsieur Joannot!” and then 
proceeded to chant for their benefit, “For he’s a jolly good 
fellow !” right through to its final “Hip, hip, hip !” And 
when he had finished, he looked at them reproachfully and 
said. “It is usual for all the company to join in the senti- 
ment. In this case the chorus was painfully noticeable by 
its absence. However, perhaps, though your hearts were 
with me, the tune was new to you, so you are excused, and 


ROUGH QUARTERS 


131 


I promise you M. Joannot shall never know how you slight- 
ed him. And now, gentlemen” — rapping with his stick 
on the rock — “You are permitted to smoke. Though, 
whether the aged preceptor should permit his youthful 
pupils to indulge, so early in the morning, he is rather 
doubtful.” 

“The youthful pupils will please themselves,” said Sonia, 
drawing out a little silver cigarette-case from her trouser- 
pocket with a defiant and swashbuckler air. “Since we 
have to wear the trammels of the other sex, we may as well 
claim their privileges also.” 

“Trammels!” snorted Yerney. “And I was flattering 
myself that you would find them such a delightfully free 
and easy change, after the complicated mysteries of wom- 
anly garb.” 

But though they two prattled away at any nonsense 
that came into their heads, Darya was very quiet and 
thoughtful. She smiled at their absurdities at times, but 
made no effort to join in them. 

“You are not tired, dear?” asked Sonia anxiously. 

“Oh, no! It is just that I can’t help feeling having to 
leave Auntie and home again so soon.” 

And that was only natural. To one who had been, so 
ruthlessly and so long, deprived of home and kin, the brief 
renewal of these incalculable joys had been like a resur- 
rection from the dead. To have kind faces and loving eyes 
about one, in place of the cold austerities of the prison- 
house ; soft draperies and pictures, in place of those deadly 
whitewashed walls; loving words and sympathetic little 
attentions, in place of the unvarying round of mean and 
thankless tasks. Ay, it was more than resurrection. It 
was akin to a heavenly translation. And then — almost 
before she had had time to savour the joy of it, the cup 
had been whisked away, and here she was once more a 
hunted fugitive on the hill-sides. 


132 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


To the others — and to Verne y especially — it was a 
high adventure, to be carried through with what enjoy- 
ment could be got out of it, all the enjoyment heightened 
and deepened by the knowledge that, delightful as it might 
be to oneself, it was also assuredly ministering to the hap- 
piness of another. 

But to Darya it was a matter of life or death. For, 
since she had tasted freedom again, she had never ceased 
to say to herself that death — quiet, peaceful, happy death 
— would be infinitely — oh, infinitely ! infinitely ! — prefer- 
able to a return to Ste. Julienne. 

The others, though they laughed and joked and babbled 
nonsense, were fully alive to the feelings which might be 
in her. But these things they did of set purpose, and 
solely to divert her thoughts from brooding on the past, 
and to make light of that which might lie in wait for 
them in the future. 

They were blessed with a golden autumn day. There 
were clouds indeed in plenty, but mostly banked up in 
the north, with only pure white argosies sailing over them 
at times to deepen the pure deep blue behind ; and the sun 
shone gloriously all day long. 

“If we could only climb up on to one of those lovely 
cloud-bergs and go on sailing, on and on,” said Sonia, 
stretched flat on her cloak with her hands clasped behind 
her head, as they lay resting one time. 

“On and on for ever,” said Darya longingly. 

“It looks solid enough,” said Vemey, “but, unless it’s 
made of manna or something of that kind, I fear we would 
begin to miss M. Joannot in time.” 

“When you float on cloud-bergs you never need to eat,” 
said Sonia with confidence. 

“That’s fortunate. You speak from experience?” 

“Oh, yes. I’ve been many a long journey on them, and 


ROUGH QUARTERS 133 

such a thought as hunger never troubled me in the slight- 
est.” 

“How did you get up?” 

“Oh, I just went. ‘Projected myself,’ is the proper 
way to put it, I suppose. Just think now what you’d 
see from that white beauty straight up there. Thuner 
See and Brienzer See just little white gleams ; Jungfrau 
and the rest, little white pimples; Lauterbrunnen Valley 
a black gash; the Rhone Valley a wide little gutter.” 

“And we three lying here?” 

“Invisible, of course, but if visible smaller than the 
smallest ants.” 

“And yet packed so full of sensations ! Perhaps the 
ants are packed as full in their own little way. It’s odd to 
think of.” 

“They’re an uncannily clever little people, from all 
accounts.” 

“I wonder if they have prisons and shut one another 
up in them,” mused Darya. 

“Time to move!” said the Preceptor promptly for all 
their wish was to keep her from all thought of such things. 

They came down the shoulder of Greberen into the 
Suld Thai a little south of Ried, and kept the country 
road there for an easy hour without meeting a soul, which 
they counted all to the good. 

Verney’s Pandora-r&c&sac provided a lunch as adequate 
as their very early breakfast. He peremptorily insisted 
on them all taking a nap after it, and set them an excellent 
example by lying down in the warmth of a sun-bathed 
rock and falling asleep in an instant. 

When he woke and sat up and lit a contemplative cigar, 
the two girls were still fast asleep, wrapped up in their 
cloaks, and he would not disturb them. 

Instead, he got out his map and studied again the 
country in front, and decided, as a still further measure 


134 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


of precaution, to rest that night at a little village named 
Warus, up on the hillside on the southern slope of the Kien 
Thai — a village so small as to have even no connecting 
link on the map with any place adjacent. He could only 
hope that so small a place might be able to furnish them 
with accommodation of some kind. For the next few 
nights he foresaw that a certain amount of roughing-it 
would be inevitable, but that after all, was of small im- 
portance compared with the additional safety ensured by 
it. 

Sonia sat up at last, and looked about her as her hands 
went up to her hair to repair damages. She nodded to Ver- 
ney under his distant rock, and looked down at the still 
sleeping Darya. 

“Is it time to be moving?” she called to him, in a mag- 
nified whisper. 

“There is no pressing hurry,” he said, coming across 
to her with his open map. 

“I hate to disturb her, poor child. When she is asleep 
she is at any rate free from her troubles, and it is good 
for her.” 

“Here is what I have been thinking,” he said, as he 
spread the map in front of her, and he detailed his plans 
and his reasons. “It may entail some rudeness of quar- 
ters for the night,” and he looked doubtfully at her. 

“Oh, that is nothing. We can put up with it, you and 
I” — and the accepted 1 conjunction of their feelings in the 
matter pleased him mightily. “And as for our poor 
Dolly — the roughest that Freedom can offer her will be 
heaven compared with what she has gone through. Let 
us sacrifice everything to safety, Mr. Verney.” 

“I knew you would feel that way about it. I hope we 
have not over-tired her,” as he looked down at the sleeping 
girl. 

“Oh, I am sure not. It is just this strong clear air, 


ROUGH QUARTERS 


135 


and her not being accustomed to it of late. If we can go 
along quietly like this for a week, without anything to 
alarm or disturb her, I’m inclined to think it will do her a 
world of good.” 

“I’m sure it will. And if we keep away from the roads 
and larger villages, I don’t see how they could possibly 
get on our track, except by a most miraculous chance.” 

“And you don’t repent yet of your rash undertaking?” 

“Do I look as if I did?” — and, truly, a more unre- 
pentant undertaker of rash adventure it would have been 
hard to find. 

“Well,” she said, with a shake of the head, “I can only 
hope you never will.” 

“I’ll promise you that at once.” 

“I knew you were an exceedingly rash young man, that 
first day at St. Peter’s, when you offered me your help 
before you had the smallest idea of what it was I wanted.” 

“ ‘The proof of the pudding is in the eating,’ as my 
good friend, M. Joannot, would say. The rashness all 
round seems to me to have turned out uncommonly well.” 

“You haven’t finished your pudding yet,” -she said 
quietly. 

And then she bent over the sleeping Darya, and gently 
put back the cloak, and kissed her, murmuring, “It is time 
we went on, dear. I am sure you feel the better for your 
sleep.” 

Darya sat up, with a startled look in her eyes which 
told of nerves not yet quite normally attuned. 

“What is it?” she jerked out, as though the fear of 
some untoward happening was ever present with her. 
Then seeing nothing unusual in the aspect of the others, 
“Have I slept too long?” she asked, and came back to 
normal with, “I was very far away. What a blessing one 
can sleep and forget all about oneself for a time! If I 
could I would just like to sleep on and on and on ” 


136 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“In which case we would have to make a cat’s cradle 
with our hands and carry you all the way to Warns,” 
said Vemey. 

“Besides, you wouldn’t sleep at night, in that case,” 
said Sonia in a matter-of-fact way. 

“Oh yes, I would — if I had my way,” said Darya, mean- 
ingly, from which you may see that her spirits were not 
of the highest. 

The rest had done them all good, however, and they 
rambled down among the Kien Thai woods in so leisurely 
a fashion that fatigue was out of the question. 

“I’ve been thinking,” said Verney, “that we had better 
be Germans for a spell.” 

“Tired of being crazy Englishmen?” asked Sonia. 

“It’s not that, but you see we’re going among villagers 
now, and we may not get what we want unless we can make 
it very plain to them. Then again, if by any thousand-to- 
one chance that over-obtrusive individual from Noirburg 
should make any inquiries concerning three crazy Eng- 
lishmen who don’t understand any German, in this neigh- 
bourhood, three stolid Germans who don’t understand any- 
thing but German might not suggest themselves to the 
natives as being the same thing at all. Can you make 
yourselves brusque enough to pass for Germans, do you 
think ?” 

“If we try very hard,” said Sonia. 

“I feel dull enough for half-a-dozen Germans,” said 
Darya. 

They crossed the stony bed of the river just as the sun’s 
last rays tipped the rugged pile of the Gspalterhorn and 
the tumbled masses of the Bliimlisalp, at the head of the 
valley, with fiery gold. 

“We have seen Alpha and Omega,” said Verney as they 
lingered to watch it. “And now for Warns.” 

The glow faded swiftly up the snow caps and vanished. 


ROUGH QUARTERS 


137 


The solid white clouds sailing in from the north held it 
still for a time, but below them the great white peaks 
stood cold and repellent. A chill wind swept down the 
valley. The girls drew their cloaks about them, and they 
pressed on up the opposite slope in silence. 

Warus was not in the habit of accommodating visitors, 
and the request in sonorous German for beds and food 
threw the little drink-shop, which was the only possible 
resting-place, into a high fever. 

At first it was flatly declared to be impossible. For, 
see you, it was not once in six months that they were asked 
such a thing, and then — behold, six people in one day ! 

“Six?” growled Verney. “How six? We are but 
three.” 

“Ach, there it is ! By some not-to-be-understood-but- 
none-the-less-extraordinary coincidence, already three 
travellers had come to stop the night.” 

“So !” growled Verney. “That is unfortunate.” 

“Could not the three Herren go on to Scharnacht or 
to Schwandi?” 

“Impossible, Herr Landlord ! My pupils are dead 
tired and cannot walk another step. Who are these 
already-come three guests?” 

“Italians,” said the landlord, glancing through the open 
door of the dingy drinking-room, and added under his 
breath, “and not of the best, but one could not refuse 

them, you see. If the Herren had only come first ” 

It was evident he would much have preferred their com- 
pany. 

“Well now, for once in a way, Herr Landlord, some 
shift is surely possible. And good money does not come 
too readily, maybe.” 

“It is true,” and he scratched his head to quicken his 
wits. “Perhaps — could you manage with one room? But 


138 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


no — there is only one bed in it. Our own room, you un- 
derstand ” 

“Come then, we will manage it all right. My pupils 
are of the quality, you see. They can have the room. I 
can manage for the night on four chairs in the salon. 
What about eating? Have the Italian gentlemen eaten 
you bare?” 

“Oh, we can manage. There is soup, and the wife is 
good at omelettes. There is also veal, unless those others 
have eaten it all. And cheese. And bread.” 

“Famous! We shall live till to-morrow after all. You 
will put clean sheets on the young Herren’s bed.” 

“Of course, of course! Enter then!” 

“All the same,” murmured Vemey in Sonia’s ear. 
“Under the circumstances I should not disrobe too much, 
if I were you,” and they followed the landlord inside. 

It was a dingy little hole at best, and the smoke of 
three unusually bad Italian cigars, and the presence of 
three unusually truculent-looking Italian workmen, did 
not make for improvement. 

Six glittering black eyes shone through the smoke at 
them, as their owners perfunctorily touched their caps 
to the strangers, and the strangers responded in kind. 

“I prescribe a cigarette each for you, and for myself 
a cigar, lest we be poisoned,” said Verney. “Did you 
ever smell such stuff in all your life? I’m sorry the accom- 
modation is so poor. It’s worse even than I feared. But 
one could not possibly foresee those Italians. Even Bae- 
deker says nothing about them!” 

“It is nothing,” said Sonia. “Please don’t let it 
trouble you, Herr Verney. The landlord at all events is 
honest, I think.” 

“That’s a serious implication against our friends over 
yonder,” he said, with a smile. “But you are quite right. 
The landlord at all events is honest and we will have noth- 


ROUGH QUARTERS 


139 


ing to do with our fellow-guests. It’s extraordinary how 
one comes to trust the Swiss, and how rarely one’s trust 
is betrayed. In some cases one might be inclined to say 
that they confine their misdeeds to their hotel bills, but 
that’s all in the way of business, of course, and their har- 
vest-time is not a long one.” 

“Why do all the Italians one meets in Switzerland look 
like bandits?” murmured Sonia through a cloud of smoke. 

“Shabby velveteens, trousers tucked into boots, red ties, 
blue belts, sallow dirty faces, and eyes like snakes make a 
very fair bandit outfit,” said Verney. “But it’s not per- 
haps always fair to judge by appearances. They look 
very typical, and I suppose there are such things as hon- 
est Italians. But Switzers are certainly more to my 
taste.” 

“I’m afraid you won’t get much sleep, Mr. Verney,” 
said Darya sympathetically. 

“I shall be perfectly all right down here. And, truly, 
if they offered me a room at any distance from yours I 
wouldn’t accept it. I’d much sooner be here. I will take 
a longer nap than usual at mid-day to-morrow,” by which 
they knew that it was his intention to keep on the watch 
through the night, and their minds were more at rest in 
consequence. 

The three Italians were disputatiously busy with a 
greasy pack of cards, but whenever either of the other 
party looked their way — which, though contrary to their 
inclination, they found themselves by the very attraction 
of repulsion quite unable to avoid doing — one or other 
pair of shifty, quick-glancing black eyes was always 
gleaming back at them through the floating coils of smoke. 

The food which the landlord presently set before them 
was, however, on a more satisfactory plane than either 
his table equipment or his sleeping accommodation. The 
soup was good, the omelettes excellent, a savoury little 


140 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


fricasse of veal, betokened moderation on the part of the 
Italians, and bread and Brie rounded off a better meal 
than they had dared to expect. Mine host’s special de- 
partment proved equal even to the production of a bottle 
of very decent wine, and his coffee stood the test of con- 
sumption when laced with a thread of cognac fine. 

He beamed broadly when Verney congratulated him on 
his provisioning, and generously ascribed the virtues to 
his wife. 

“ You ought to be on one of the well-known routes and 
making a fortune,” said Verney. “Your light is hidden 
up here on the hill-side.” 

“Ah — ha! That may come, mein Herr , when the op- 
portunity offers. The wife, you see, was in service at 
Spiez, at one of the hotels, — yes, the Schdnegg — and she 
learned how to do things there.” 

“You will congratulate Madame on our behalf. All she 
needs is a better field for her accomplishments, and that 
we will wish you.” 

“The Herr is very good and Madame will be charmed. 
The room is prepared for the young Herren whenever 
they wish. It is the one immediately above this.” 

“They will smoke another cigarette and then they will 
go. Where are our noisy friends over there bound for?” 

“Ach! They are not to our taste at all, but what 
would you? They do the work for which our own people 
are not adapted, and the works are necessary. At Kan- 
dersteg and at Muhlinen there is work going on, and there 
are always plenty of them passing to and fro. But for 
me, I do not like them,” and he bent and whispered, “They 
are always quarrelling and they are not over clean. The 
Herren go on to Kandersteg to-morrow ? — to Adelboden? 
— to Spiez? Up the Kien Thai? It is very fine scenery 
up there — the Bliimlisalp, the Gspalterhorn.” 

“We just ramble round to see the scenery and stop 


ROUGH QUARTERS 


141 


where the spirit moves us. How far is it to Kandersteg 
and the Oeschinen See?” 

“Half a mile, German, to Frutigen, one mije and a quar- 
ter to Kandersteg. The Oeschinen See — very fine — mag- 
nificent — half a mile further.” 

“Ah — our German miles are long miles. Well, we will 
see in the morning. You will give us early breakfast at 
seven, and Madame will perhaps graciously provide us 
with some eatables for the road, in case we are on the hill- 
sides when we are hungry — and a bottle of that wine we 
have just enjoyed.” 

“All shall be done, mein Herr , and if the young Herren 
will just come through to the kitchen when they are ready, 
I will show them the way to their room. For the Herr 
himself I will bring down some blankets and a pillow.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE B HACK-FACED THREE 

S KILLED craftsmen as the Swiss are in certain of 
the arts, and especially in the manipulation of wood 
to all its possible uses, there are some departments 
which they leave almost entirely, in certain cantons at all 
events, to their southern neighbours. 

Hence, here and there — like scrofuluous eruptions on 
the fair face of nature, like slums among the picturesque 
native chalets — great cantonments of Italian labourers, 
building railways, funiculaires , what not — all doubtless 
very necessary from the utilitarian Swiss point of view, 
but abominable to the lover of Nature pure and simple, 
and disgusting and depressing from all other points of 
view, save, perhaps, the Italian. 

In such colonies dirt reigns supreme. The houses 
are hideous rows of wooden barracks, grimy and unwhole- 
some. Chickens, children, and mud abound. The men, in 
shabby velveteens or blue jeans, are a quick-eyed, black- 
jowled race; the women tawdry and gipsy-like, and given 
to cheap clothing of painfully obtrusive hues. 

It is, however, never wise to condemn wholesale, to dia- 
tribe on but a distant acquaintance, or to diagnose without 
full investigation. These excrescent communities may be 
thrifty, healthy, moral, and altogether desirable in every 
possible way. But they do not look it, and after all one 
has to judge a casual acquaintance more or less by his 
looks. 

In all such communities there is of necessity a constant 
coming and going — a shedding off of discordant elements 

142 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


143 


— a weeding-out of the least desirable; and the weeds are 
anything but helpful contributions to the countryside at 
large. 

The three whom our friends encountered at Warus 
were weeds of the weediest. Outcast from one cantonment 
after another where only workers were wanted, they had 
yesterday tried Muhlinen and to-day would approach 
Kandersteg, unless an opportunity more to their taste 
should occur between the two. 

The landlord and his wife slept that night in the kitchen, 
and, with Verney on four chairs in the front room, felt 
fairly easy in their minds. 

“You slept?” he asked Verney, when he came in early 
in the morning to set the room to such rights as was pos- 
sible. 

“Oh, yes, I slept. The strong air tells upon one, you 
see.” 

“It is good air. Now I will see to the Herren’s break- 
fast as speedily as possible, and the eatables to carry with 
them.” 

“You might knock on the door of the young Herren’s 
room, and bring me a towel.” 

“And how did you get on?” asked Verney, when the girls 
came down. “Did you manage to sleep?” 

“Oh, we slept. One cannot help sleeping when one 
lives in the open air. And you? I’m afraid you had not 
much comfort,” said Sonia. 

“I slept all the same and in spite of myself.” 

“I kept dreaming of those horrid men, with their dark, 
thin faces and wicked, black eyes,” said Darya. “They 
looked fit for anything.” 

“Fit for anything but honest hard work, you mean,” 
he laughed; “but perhaps their looks belie them. They 
may be good, honest, hardworking citizens, after all.” 


144 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“They may,” said Sonia. “And we may be dirty, un- 
wholesome, reckless-looking ne’er-do-weels. But we aren’t.” 

“I did the best I could at the little waterfall out there,” 
he laughed again. “But the water was like ice and the 
soap was not sympathetic. . . . Ah, here come the 

brigands ! Truly I would like to introduce them to the 
waterfall.” 

They made an excellent breakfast in spite of the brig- 
ands, who sat at the other end of the room, swallowing 
smoke and pouring it out through their noses by way of 
working up a good healthy appetite for more solid food, 
and gazing through it at the strangers like black-eyed 
basilisks. 

The landlord brought in their eatables for the day, 
neatly parcelled up, and finally his bill, in which he had 
striven his hardest to strike a happy mean between what 
he knew to be right and what, judging by the appearance 
of his guests, it might be possible to exact. 

It came to so small a sum, however, that Verney glanced 
only at the total and raised no questions, but, instead, 
complimented him on his catering and hoped he might 
come across him at some future time in a larger sphere. 
Then they took up their packs, and set off over the should- 
er of the hill to strike the Frutigen road a little south of 
Schwandi, whereby they would be able to cross the Kander 
and the Engstligenbach before they joined forces and 
became a torrent. 

Even apart, however, they were rivers of size, and, in 
order to get the girls across dry-shod, Vemey found it 
necessary to take off boots and stockings, and, after an 
experimental journey in each case to sound for pitfalls, 
to carry them over in his arms. 

It was another crisp autumn morning, with a feeling of 
frost in the air, and a sky less deeply blue, with fleets of 
snowy clouds whose shadows dappled- all the mountain- 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


145 


side with a wonderful hurrying chequer of light and shade, 
strangely beautiful in their ever-varying effects. 

The higher peaks, when the sun fell on them, soared 
aloft among the drifting argosies more purely dazzlingly 
white than they, and of a visibly harder texture ; but when 
the sun was hid, the cold white crests were not without a 
touch of menace. 

They crossed the Frutigen road half a mile from the 
little town, and took a bridle-path up the slope of the 
Megisserhorn, which led them round past Fruitgen itself 
to Oberfeld and Loo, whence, until you came to Blatt, five 
miles further on, there was, at that time, no other village 
on that side of the river, save here and there one away up 
the mountain-side. Indeed, the only sign of humanity on 
that side of the valley was an occasional hay or cattle 
shed, and even these were few and far apart. At that 
time, too, the high road to Adelboden ran all the way 
along the opposite bank, and the track which Verney and 
the girls were following, on the left bank, was no more 
than a bridle- and cattle-path. 

“Barring the little inconveniences of last night, I think 
we have managed things most uncommonly well!” said 
Verney exultantly. “The gentleman from Noirburg’s nose 
is completely out of joint. I hope he is taking it equably.” 

“I have never felt so far away from everything and 
everybody in my life before,” said Sonia. 

“Which, for the time being, is just what we are aiming 
at. How are the feet standing it, Herr Jack?” 

“‘They are not troubling me in the least. This air 
makes me feel as if I could walk on and on all day without 
stopping ” 

“Which, as we have to go on walking to-morrow, and 
the next day, and the next, and several more after that, 
we shall certainly not allow you to do. Gently goes far- 
thest in the end. This is about the loneliest bit we’ve 


146 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


struck yet. People do not actually tumble over one an- 
other in the Engstligen Thai, evidently.” 

“There is some one coming behind yonder,” said Sonia, 
gazing back the way they had come. “One — two — I think 
three — people.” 

“They probably keep their cows somewhere up the 
mountain-sides here, and come up to milk them,” and as 
they jogged leisurely on he told them of his home up in 
Warwickshire, and of his mother and sisters, and prom- 
ised them warm welcome there as soon as they reached 
England. 

“And Madame di Garda will come, too,” he said, “and 
you shall see how cheerfully we manage to spend Christ- 
mas, no matter what the weather is.” 

“It is very good of you and it sounds delightful,” said 
Sonia soberly, “but ” 

“ ‘But me no buts,’ ” he quoted. “But why?” 

“Well, you see, your people don’t know us ” 

“Haven’t I known you all my life?” 

“Just about seven whole days,” she said firmly. 

“Is it possible? Now, I put it to you, does it seem to 
you as if I had only known you seven whole days ?” 

“I can’t truthfully say that it does. They have cer- 
tainly been seven very full days.” 

“Seven days !” he said with emphasis. “Seven years ! 
A full apprenticeship to friendship,” and if he had dared 
he would have liked to use a stronger word still. 

But Sonia, happening to glance back, suddenly jerked 
out a startled — 

“Mr. Verney!” and he turned, and they all stood look- 
ing back, and Verney’s face stiffened somewhat. 

“That’s odd!” he said. “What can they be wanting 
along here?” 

“It’s a public road, after all,” said Sonia. 

“Undoubtedly — and an uncommonly lonely one. They 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


147 


may mean mischief. They certainly looked capable of 
anything.” 

“I knew they were brigands,” said Darya resignedly. 
At which the others smiled. 

“All the same, we will get along towards that wooden 
house on in front there. If they mean nothing they can 
go on ahead. If they mean mischief the shed may be 
useful. Don’t hurry! We have plenty of time,” and 
they strolled on restrainedly towards the cattle-shed in 
front. 

It proved to be stoutly built of logs roughly dove- 
tailed into one another; the floor was, as usual, raised a 
foot or so from the ground; and there was no possible 
doubt as to the use to which it was usually put. The 
floor was strewn with dried bracken, and the not un- 
pleasant odour of cows prevailed. There were, however, 
no signs of very recent occupancy, and the door was 
missing. 

They dropped their riicksacs inside and sat down, the 
girls on the low doorstep and Verney on an out jutting 
end of a log. He lit a cigar, the girls each took a cigar- 
ette as a token of, or aid to, imperturbability, and they 
all sat quietly smoking and watching the advance of the 
three black-jowled Italians, from whom they had parted 
with so much relief at Warus. 

“I believe they mean mischief,” said Verney, when the 
new-comers had arrived within easy conning distance, and 
the blacks and whites of their shifty eyes could be seen; 
and the meaning of them, and of the quick words and 
grins that snapped from one to another as they came 
straight for the hut, left small doubt of their intentions. 

“Get inside at the first sign of trouble,” murmured Ver- 
ney. “We can hold them outside for a year and they will 
tire of it before we do. We’re provisioned for a siege, 
anyway.” 


148 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


The evil-looking three came striding on, the others sat 
waiting, quietly observant. 

“Signor,” said the chosen spokesman, in fairly fluent 
German, “we are poor men, anxious to get back home to 
our wives and families. Will the Signor help us on our 
way ?” 

This was, from the whole look of them, so obviously 
only a preliminary, that Verney replied at once, “Cer- 
tainly not, my friend. The Signor regrets that his inclin- 
ation does not incline him that way.” 

“Then the Signor will pardon us if we help ourselves,” 
and the three laughed an ill laugh. 

“Oh, certainly! The Signor will pardon you, but he 
will break your heads if you attempt it,” and the girls 
went inside. 

And only just in time! For, with a quick simultaneous 
movement, the right hands of the three whirled, and three 
chunks of rock came whizzing at Verney’s head. 

Three right hands behind three villainous backs, how- 
ever, could hardly escape a keen observer’s notice, and 
the only doubt in his mind had been between knives and 
stones. 

The stones were not, therefore, altogether a surprise, 
and he was not taken unawares. A quick side jump, 
two heavy blows on the outside of the shed, and one 
more hollowly from within, and he sprang inside before 
the artillery could discharge a second volley. 

“That’s all right,” he smiled at the girls. “Now we 
know where we are. There is no need to be frightened,” 
for Darya’s pale face was almost pallid and had a drawn, 
anxious look about it. Sonia’s was pale also, but angry 
and determined, and her eyes had sparks in them. 

“I’m not frightened,” she said, with quick resentment 
at the imputation. “But I’d like to smash them, the 
wretches !” 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


149 


“Keep well out of sight,” he said quietly, indicating 
the corner nearest the doorway. “They cannot reach us 
here, and we’ll take the offensive as soon as the chance 
offers. This stick of mine should prove a fairly strong 
argument if we come to close quarters . . If I can 

only get them apart and tackle them one by one ! . . . 

We can see more of them than they can of us, anyway,” 
and he passed along the wall from chink to chink, where 
the inner casing of the shed had warped or fallen apart. 

“Council of war,” he announced. “Resolution as to 
cowardly tactics of enemy in taking to cover, carried 
unanimously. . . . Differences of opinion as to next 

move. . . . Feasibility of carrying the position by 

direct assault negatived by two to one. ... I shall 
make a point of smashing that biggest fellow’s black head 
at the first opportunity. . . . Brute’s got a beastly- 

looking knife. ... I covet that knife as a memento 
of the day’s doings. Can you see him?” to Sonia, who 
was ogling chinks alongside him. 

“I see him. He’s the worst looking of the lot. I’d like 
to smash him myself.” 

Darya leaned silently in her corner, the weariness and 
pallor of her face showing plainly the laxing of her nerves 
— the result of her long confinement and the austerely 
ordered routine of prison life. 

“Ah — ha ! — more rocks !” as another volley came hurt- 
ling through the doorway. “Waste of force and ammuni- 
tion, my friends ! Keep well into the corner ! 

They’re going to try if they can reach us at an angle. 

Idiots ! they ought to know better, but their 
education has probably been neglected.” 

More rocks came flying in, flung from the further cor- 
ner of the shed and just skimming the door-post nearest 
them. But no missile on a straight traject could possibly 
pass the door-post and reach the corner, so they were per- 


150 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


fectly safe. The change of position on the part of the 
besiegers had, however, taken them out of sight, and Ver- 
ney slipped across to the other side of the shed to keep 
them under observation. 

“More council of war,” he announced. “Bad langu- 
age, I fear. . . . Faces expressive of annoyance, for 

some reason or other! . . . Impossible to satisfy 

some folks! . . . Oh, do something, my boys! We 

don’t want to stop here all day, you know. . . . Ah, 

going round to the back, are you?” and he followed them 
round the chinks. 

“Listen then, Signor!” — from outside the shed at the 
back. “You throw us out one hundred lira and we go 
away and leave you and the signorine alone.” 

Verney smiled at the southern acumen which had pene- 
trated the girls’ disguises. Sonia flushed with anger. 

For a moment he hesitated — not for his own sake but 
for the girls.’ It might be a cheap riddance of the rascals. 
One hundred francs was no great sum, and under their 
own peculiar circumstances the results of a scrimmage 
might cost them considerably more. 

All the same, the idea was hateful to him. If the bar- 
gain had included five minutes’ free play with his big stick 
on their truculent backs, he might have agreed. 

“Don’t do it,” whispered Sonia, with an angry shake of 
the head. “They would only waylay us further on.” 

“Thank you!” he nodded, much relieved that they were 
of one mind in the matter. 

“Will you do that, Signor? and we let you and the 
young ladies go.” 

No answer from the shed. Growling curses from the 
back. “ Diavolo /” then, and “ M aladetto !” and “ Sangue 
di Dio!” and other remarks of a similar character, and 
they drew off once more to plot further mischief. 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


151 


Verney seized the opportunity to pick up some of the 
wasted ammunition. 

“There are two of them round here,” whispered Sonia 
from her front corner. “They are looking for more 
stones.” 

And then a trickle of pungent smoke, stealing up 
through the flooring, showed what the third man was 
about. They were to be smoked out or burned out. 

Verney saw his chance. The enemy’s force was divided, 
and two to one — and the two only Italians — did not appeal 
to him as any great odds. 

“Keep the doorway with your sticks !” he whispered, 
and, with a rock in each hand, charged out straight for 
the two in front. 

The moment was propitious. Their backs were towards 
him as they groped for stones. 

He hurled his first as he ran. It caught the bigger 
rogue between the shoulders as he straightened up, and 
bowled him over breathless and for the moment harmless. 
The other, a black little wasp of a man, turned and ran 
a few paces, lugging his knife out of its sheath at his back. 
Then he stood, poised himself on his toes, the knife above 
his head between his thumb and second finger, the first 
finger at the butt to speed its flight. It glittered in the 
sun and looked venomously deadly. 

Verney wondered briefly where it would take him, and 
how far it would go in. It looked capable of going clean 
through him. 

But he had small time for thought. With a quick 
whirling spring the little man launched the knife full at 
him. 

Verney felt it strike the arm he had involuntarily flung 
up before his face, and then his thick stick crashed on the 
little man’s round, black head, and he went down in a heap. 

The other was just struggling dazedly to his feet. It 


152 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


was no time for half measures. Verney whacked round at 
his black head also as if it had been a hockey ball, and he 
crumpled up and lay quiet. 

There was a struggle going on at the door of the shed. 
Verney gave a triumphant whoop and dashed at it. But 
the last of the three saw him coming, saw also what had 
befallen his comrades, and turned and bolted round the 
corner as fast as his legs could carry him. 

“That’s all right !” laughed Verney between heavy pant- 
ings. “No casualties here?” 

“No casualties,” panted Sonia, coming to the door with 
a very red, excited face. “We beat him off with our poles 
— the wretch! You have made a good job of your two,” 
as she glanced at the two quiet dark heaps beyond. 

“I’m inclined to think they won’t trouble us just yet 
awhile. And I suggest that we get along at once. We’ll 
have to be content with the punishment they’ve got. We 
can’t hand them over to the police, you see. It would 
mean delay, and explanations, and annoyance generally. 
So the sooner we’re away the better. I’ll just kick out 
the remains of that fire.” 

“They’re not . . . dead, I suppose?” said Sonia, 

doubtfully, as he came back. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, but we can go and look. Hello !” 

“Oh, you’re hurt !” gasped Darya. 

“I didn’t know it” — but his left hand was full of blood, 
which was running down his arm. 

“There ! — your sleeve !” and he twisted himself round to 
look at it, and found that the flying knife had slashed 
through his sleeve and under- things, and neatly opened 
his arm just below the shoulder. 

“I remember now, it hit me, but I didn’t know it had 
gone through. I don’t suppose it’s anything.” 

“Take off your coat and let us see,” ordered Sonia, and 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


153 


he hauled it off, and both the girls started at the sight of 
the blood-soaked shirt sleeve, and said, “Oh!” 

“Nothing of consequence, I think,” he said, but he had 
a momentary cold qualm as he thought how it might have 
been if the knife had gone a few inches more to the right. 

“My rilcksac, Dolly dear !” said Sonia, and when it was 
opened she got out a pair of scissors and cut the shirt 
sleeve away. 

“Now we want water,” and she looked helplessly round. 

“Just tie that dirty sleeve round it as tight as you can, 
and we’ll go on and find the water. The sooner we get 
away the better. Thanks ! That’s all right. It will keep 
now till we come to a stream. But I promised myself that 
big fellow’s knife,” and he walked over to the fallen war- 
riors and took possession of the bigger rascal’s knife and 
sheath. 

He briefly examined the broken heads, judged the in- 
juries not serious, and went back to the girls, kicking the 
grass with his feet and evidently looking for something. 
He found it at last, close to the shed — the knife that had 
wounded him. 

“Now — quick march !” he suggested, and they picked up 
their baggage and walked quietly on up the valley. 

“Villainous-looking things, aren’t they?” he said, dis- 
playing his trophies. “Will you keep one as a memento 
also ?” 

“Horrid things ! As bad as their owners,” said Sonia. 
“No, I won’t have one, thank you!” 

“I shall keep this one,” he said, “and the other can go, 
since you feel no craving for it,” and he jerked it away up 
the mountain-side and it fell with a clatter among the 
rocks. 

“Not yet, not yet,” he protested, when they came on a 
stream galloping down to the Engstligenbach. “Let us 


154 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


put all the space we can between ourselves and our mis- 
deeds first. It is quite comfortable, I assure you.” 

“We are costing you more than we intended, Mr. Ver- 
ney,” said Sonia regretfully. 

“Not a bit! I mean” — he laughed — “this is really not 
worth speaking of. But they are nasty things, are flying 
knives, and anything but correct form. I wish I’d hit 
that fellow’s head a bit harder. Just look at that now!” 
holding out for inspection the knife he was keeping. 
“Edges back and front, and both as sharp as razors. If 
the other one had come straight, I believe it would have 
gone right through me.” 

“Oh, don’t!” said Sonia with a shiver. “I’m thankful 
it was no worse.” 

“So am I,” said Verney, and jerked his thoughts 
sharply away from consideration of what might have 
happened to the girls if that other knife had gone to its 
destined billet. 

That would indeed have been a woeful ending to their 
High Adventure, and it would not bear thinking about. 
And all three of them, though they said no more about it, 
were most devoutly grateful that matters had gone no 
worse. 

“Well, yes, I think we may take a bit of a rest now,” 
said Verney, after a good hour’s walking. 

They sat down by the next stream, and he bared his 
muscular white arm to the shoulder and cleansed it in 
the icy water, and washed the red sleeve so that it might 
be turned to account as a bandage. And Sonia made a 
pad of it and bound it up tightly with handkerchiefs — 
Verney’s handkerchiefs, since hers and Darya’s lacked 
superficial area. 

“Does it hurt?” she asked anxiously. 

“Not a bit — that is, hardly at all,” he replied cheer- 
fully, for her undisguised sympathy and the touch of her 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


155 


soft fingers were altogether delightful to him. He would 
have suffered much more painful wounds with equanimity 
for the joy of her anxious ministrations. “It’s a nice 
clean gash and will soon heal. Now I think we might eat 
a bite or two. So much active exertion makes one feel 
empty.” 

So they delved into their Warus parcels and found them 
equal to the occasion, and sat eating and chatting dis- 
cursively — Verney in the highest of spirits, Sonia inclined 
thereto also, in the rebound from the late undue tension. 
Darya alone seemed weighted and earth-bound. 

“I know,” she said excusingly, when Sonia rallied her 
onetime. “But I can’t help feeling like a Jonah. Trouble 
goes with me.” 

“But it wasn’t you those wretched men wanted, dear,” 
reasoned Sonia. “It was just anything they could get out 
of any or all of us. They would have attacked anybody 
they came across if they’d thought them worth plunder- 
ing.” 

“I know. But you wouldn’t have been here but for me. 
You would be living comfortably at Unterhofcn with 
Auntie.” 

“And I should never have met her,” thought Verney to 
himself. “I owe it all to Darya.” And he seconded all 
Sonia’s efforts to cheer her up. 

“Dolly dear!” said Sonia earnestly. “Don’t think like 
that! There was no joy in life for us till you were free 
to share it with us. We are all happier now than we have 
been for years past.” 

“I can speak for one, any way,” said Verney, smiling 
radiantly but equally in earnest. “Just think what a 
melancholy mad time I would have had mouching about St. 
Peter’s all by myself. Whereas now — thanks to you! — 
I’m having the very best holiday I ever had in my life.” 


156 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Yes, it looks like it,” said Darya, glancing at his 
bandaged arm. 

“Oh, that’s only an incident of travel. The joy of 
cracking those fellows’ black heads more than paid for it, 
I assure you.” 

“I suppose there is no fear of them following us,” said 
Sonia, scanning the lower valley intently. 

“Not the slightest, I should say. They have had their 
soup and it disagreed with them. They’ll not want any 
more. Let us hope it will have a permanent effect on their 
morals.” 

“More likely on their brains. I should imagine that 
stick of yours would make quite an impression on an 
Italian head.” 

“It’s an excellent argument,” he said, picking it up and 
swinging it in his hand, “and a very old friend. It’s good 
old Irish blackthorn. I cut it myself and had it polished. 
It’s the kind of argument our Paddies used to use very 
effectively at election times. “I’m glad it has been turned to 
so good a use on this occasion.” 

“I feel like a nap,” he said presently, when his cigar 
was nearing its end. “But I think perhaps we’d better get 
on. There’s no warmth in the sun to-day. We’ll go right 
on to this village, Adelboden. There’s sure to be a decent 
inn there, and we’re all due a good night’s rest. And I’ll 
take the opportunity of buying a shirt if there’s such a 
thing as a shop in the place. How are you for feeling, 
warm enough? It will be colder for the next few days, 
when we are crossing the high grounds. Woollen shirts 
all round would not be a bad idea.” 

“A very good idea, I think,” said Sonia, with an incipi- 
ent shiver. “It is certainly colder here.” 

“ Allons ! En route! Marchez , mes enfants!” and he 
jumped up, and they set their faces towards the head of 
the valley. 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


157 


Though but a very few years ago, Adelboden was as yet 
a comparatively unsophisticated — though eminently 
charming — Swiss village, somewhat off the beaten track, 
and as yet quite happy in its own enjoyment of its own 
undiscovered beauties. 

After their experiences of the previous night, the cosy- 
looking old brown wooden houses, and the ancient church 
with its outside wall-frescoes, seemed warmly welcoming 
to them, and they marched in with cheerful expectation of 
bodily comfort. 

“There’s a shop! There are shirts! There’s a jolly- 
looking inn ! Allons , mes enfants, we are well fallen !” an- 
nounced Verney, in the highest of spirits. “Let us eat, 
drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we go up higher ! We 
will take our good as it comes, and trust to Providence for 
the rest.” 

They chose the Post Hotel , and were welcomed with the 
warmth of unexpected profit, for travellers were few. So 
the landlord made much of them, lighted the big white 
stove in the guest-room with his own hands, and promised 1 
them an extra good supper within the hour. 

“It’s quite delightful to feel a stove again,” said Sonia, 
leaning up against the warm tiles in thoroughly masculine 
fashion. “I’m inclined to suggest two woollen shirts 
apiece, and the thickest procurable.” 

“Three, if you will promise to wear them,” laughed 
Verney. 

“Two ought to be enough. We have our cloaks,” and 
he went out at once to the shop, and delighted them there 
by the purchase of six of the warmest shirts he could find, 
the young lady in charge agreeing, with most flattering 
volubility, that they were just exactly such as the weather 
called for, and charging him a franc each above the ordi- 
nary with the most charming and disarming complacency. 

She pressed other warm apparel on his notice also, and 


158 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


he thoughtfully bought them each a pair of thick stock- 
ings such as the boys and men of those parts wear in the 
winter time, and hoped there might be room in the girls’ 
shoes for their feet and their stockings at the same time. 
He managed also to get a roll of plaster to strap up his 
arm with, and Sonia insisted on doing it for him, up in 
his own room, as soon as he got back to the hotel. 

They sat long over the table that evening, for the air 
outside had an unmistakable chill in it, and the little salon 
was as cosy and comfortable as could be. 

They dawdled over their supper and lingered over their 
coffee, and even Darya brightened visibly under the genial 
influences that surrounded her. 

“I would like to stop here for a month,” she said long- 
ingly. 

“There are better places in the world even than this,” 
said Verney, “though I’m bound to say it is very jolly. 
Quite an improvement on Warus, isn’t it? Still, I think we 
did wisely in stopping there. I feel now as if we had 
shaken off our friend from Noirburg for good and all. 
And the three little black men were not a heavy price 
to pay for that.” 

While they still gossiped over their empty cups, the 
landlord came in to expand his mind on the travellers, and 
naturally the conversation turned upon their next move- 
ments. 

“Ah — you go on to-morrow ?” he said, nodding pon- 
derously. “For Leuk?” 

“No, the other way— for the Gemmi and Leuk.” 

“A-a-ah — so-o-o! For the Gemmi! But you will find 
it cold walking up there, you know.” 

“For a time, no doubt. But we go towards the warmth.” 

“And there is new snow these last days.” 

“But not deep yet, I should think. How is the path?” 


THE BLACK-FACED THREE 


159 


“The path is good as a rule, but it depends on the snow. 
But you can always return if you find it too much.” 

“Yes, we can always return.” 

“You go by Wildeschwand and Artelen, and under the 
Tschingellochtighorn ?” 

“That’s the way. I hope the Tschingeletcetera is not 
as bad as his name. If he is we shall probably return.” 

“Oh, he is not so bad if the weather is not bad. There 
is a new way by the Engstligenalp, but that is not for this 
time of year. You will find it easier by Artelen and old 
Hans Unger’s hut under the Tschingellochtighorn.” 

“And who is old Hans Unger, and why has he got a hut 
under the Tschingel?” 

“He keeps the path in order, mein Herr. That is what 
he is paid for. For myself I would rather live down here 
than up there. Herr Gott, yes ! It is a lonely life.” 

“He is all alone up there?” 

“All alone but for two, three goats. He comes down 
in the winter, of course, but, not once or twice, when 
he has lingered late, he has been shut up there for a week 
at a time by the snow — he and his goats all alone. It is 
not a life that would suit every one.” 

“We’ll take old Hans a packet of tobacco and the latest 
papers,” said Yerney. “What else would please him, 
now?” 

“A bottle of Kirsch and a tin of coffee, if I may suggest, 
mein Herr. He is generally well provided for a siege, you 
understand, but these things he enjoys and they will always 
be of use.” 

“You will provide them for us, Herr Landlord, and also 
provisions for the road — ample provisions and of your 
best, for this strong air makes one always hungry.” 

“It is good to be always hungry,” laughed the landlord, 
“both for those who eat and for those who provide for 
them. I will see to it all myself. And if the weather turns 


160 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


bad, and the Herren decide to return, we will welcome them 
with heartiness.” 

“ ‘Life’s warmest welcome’s at an inn,’ ” misquoted Ver- 
ney musingly, as mine host bowed himself away. “With- 
out subscribing to the sentiment entirely, I’m bound to 
say this is an improvement on Warns.” 

“It is,” said Sonia emphatically. “And I’m glad to 
think you won’t have to sleep on four chairs to-night.” 

“And Master Jack here won’t have to dream of brigands 
all night.” 

“I probably shall, all the same,” said Darya. “I do 
hope your arm won’t keep you from sleeping, Mr. Ver- 
ney.” 

“I don’t believe even it could manage that. I’m dog- 
tired. I suppose it’s the effect of our little argument with 
the black-a-vised ones this morning. So — early to bed, 
early to rise! I suggest we breakfast about eight, and 
start for Mr. Unger’s hut at nine.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES 

N INE o’clock next morning found them on the road, 
with Wild Strubel and the Tschingellochtighorn 
gleaming and glooming in alternate invitation and 
menace in front, and the beautiful valley behind Adelboden 
drawing them round, every few steps, for another look at 
the long, smooth sweep of its green pastures and the glint 
of its many waters in the fitful sunshine. 

“We will take it easily and steadily,” said Verney. “We 
have a good day’s march before us. But if we feel tired we 
can always break it at Artelen or at old Hans Unger’s. A 
night with that old gentleman would be quite an experience, 
I should say.” 

But they had all slept wonderfully. Verney vowed 
that he had never turned over once, and even Darya ac- 
knowledged to absolutely dreamless sleep. So they were 
all in good condition for the day’s call upon them, and 
pushed on cheerfully past the Boden farms, to Wilde- 
schwand, and there they received a check. 

Verney made light of it at the time, but, looking back 
afterwards, he saw how fateful it had proved. And al- 
ways, when he pondered the matter, he wondered again at 
the strange correlation of events which elevated into deter- 
mining factors in all their lives three villainous little Ital- 
ian tramps — of whom they had never dreamed till the 
previous night — whose greed had brought them into mo- 
mentary conflict with them — but whom they had hoped 
never to set eyes on again. 


16 i 


162 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


It was amazing. It was, indeed, infinitely and pro- 
foundly disturbing — to think that outside influences so 
trivial, so wholly accidental, should have been the means 
of precipitating results so direful, of bringing about a 
catastrophe beyond all earthly power of redemption. 

They plodded cheerfully up the rise to Wildeschwand, 
and sat down in the little inn there, to drink a glass of 
wine with the provisions they had brought with them. 

And in course of conversation with the landlord, Verney 
quite casually happened to say: “You do not have many 
travellers at this time of year, I suppose.” 

And the landlord made answer: “Not half as many as 
we would like, mein Herr. • Some days not one. Some 
days, as to-day, six before mid-day, but that is not often.” 

“Oh — ho! You’ve had a good day to-day, then? And 
who were the others?” 

“Three black-faced Itafians bound for the Gemmi ” 

“Oh — ho!” said Verney once more, and looked doubt- 
fully at the girls. “We passed three such on the road yes- 
terday. I wonder whether they were the same. What 
were they like?” 

“As ill-looking a lot as ever I set eyes on, mein Herr. 
Yes — I said to my wife when they were gone, and glad we 
were to see them go, I can assure you! — I said, Tf I met 
those three alone on the road I would get behind a rock 
till they had passed.’ That’s what I thought about them, 
mein Herr. We don’t get very many of them round this 
way, thank God! — but even one’s too many, and three’s a 
good many times worse.” 

“There are some waterfalls worth seeing somewhere 
about here, aren’t there?” asked Verney, discursively, as it 
seemed. 

“Just up the road, the lower fall; and the higher, which 
is better still, is about another hour further on.” 

“We want to have a look at them. If we spend too 


PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES 


163 


much time there can you put us up for the night?” 

“We’ll manage it all right, mein Herr. We don’t as a 
rule, you see, but we can do it all right, and will do our 
best for you.” 

“You think they are our three, then?” asked Sonia, as 
soon as they took the road again. 

“I’m afraid there’s no doubt about it. And on this 
occasion discretion seems to me the better part of valour. 
What do you think? We came off all right last time, but 
if we should happen to fall in with them again we might 
not fare so well.” 

“Err on the safe side,” said Sonia. “Time is of no con- 
sequence to us. We will stop the night here.” 

“Best so, I think. If we did tumble across them they 
might put up a better fight, under the double incentive of 
revenge and plunder, than they did for plunder only. 
Their heads haven’t forgotten my stick yet, I’ll wager.” 

“You don’t suppose they’ve come this way on purpose 
to lie in wait for us, do you, Mr. Verney?” asked Darya. 
“Because if they had ” 

“It’s possible, of course,” he said, thoughtfully. “They 
might have learned which way we were going, at Adelboden. 
But it’s just as likely they’re only taking the shortest way 
home, and have no thought of us in the matter at all.” 

But the bare possibility of meeting the black three, 
up among the wildnesses whither they were bound weigh- 
ed upon him to such an extent that he made up his mind 1 
to procure some defensive weapon of longer range and 
more active calibre than his blackthorn, if such was in any 
way obtainable. 

“In a case of ambush,” he said briefly, “the attack 
always has the advantage of knowing what it is going to 
do. I will try to get a revolver and we must keep our eyes 
open.” 

“Couldn’t we go some other way?” asked Darya. 


164 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“We could, of course, but it means going back more or 
less. And, really, I don’t think there is much danger from 
these fellows — none at all if we are armed. They would 
bolt like rabbits at sight of a revolver, and I’d rather like 
to see them do it.” 

“You see,” he said presently, with Darya’s suggestion 
in his mind, “if we went back to Adelboden the only place 
we could make for would be Leuk, and then on towards 
the Lake of Geneva, and we don’t particularly want to go 
there. We might be able to get across the mountains to 
Kandersteg and down to the Gemmi that way, but it’s a 
long way round. I don’t think you need worry about the 
little black men — certainly not if that revolver is obtain- 
able.” 

So, as they rambled up to the higher falls, the shadow 
of the Italians lay upon them somewhat. And the falls, 
fine as they were, had a chill in them, and they were none 
of them sorry to make their way down again. 

“Yes, we will stop the night with you,” said Verney 
to the keeper of the little drink-shop, “and you must do 
your best to make us comfortable.” 

“You shall have nothing to complain of, Herren. We 
will do our utmost. I will light the stove at once.” 

“Good! Now, one other thing. Herr Landlord. Have 
you got such a thing as a revolver for sale?” 

“A revolver, mein Herr?” and he turned from his fire- 
lighting and gazed at them open-mouthed. 

“A revolver, Herr Landlord. And I will tell you why, 
and why we are stopping here over-night. Yesterday, 
down in the Engstligen Thai, those three Italians of whom 
you spoke, asked us for money, and when we refused they 
tried to take it. We had a little fight, and I broke two of 
their black heads with my stick ” 

“Yes,” nodded the landlord, “they looked as if they had 
sore heads. The Herr did very well to break them.” 


PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES 


165 


“They had knives. Here is one of them” — he pulled 
it out of his rucksac. “Another went through a bit of my 
arm. See,” and he slipped off his jacket, and rolled up the 
new shirt sleeve and showed the bandaged wound. 

“That was nasty business !” 

“Well now, you see, Herr Landlord, it has occurred to 
us that it is just possible those rascals may have learned 
which way we intended going, and they might lie in wait 
for us up there. And so, if one had a revolver, why — 
naturally one would feel more easy in one’s mind, you un- 
derstand.” 

“Yes, surely! Let me see now! It is a revolver the 
Herr wants, not a gun? There are guns to be had.” 

“A revolver in preference, if it is procurable.” 

The landlord thoughtfully crammed the stove full of 
wood, thoughtfully poured in some oil out of a tin can, and 
thoughtfully dropped in a match, and in two minutes it 
was rumbling and roaring like a miniature volcano. 

Then he turned thoughtfully to his guests. “There is 
a neighbour up yonder on the side of Mittag Horn who 
used to have a revolver, I know. Louis Schmalz his name 
is. He was out with the troops at Verrieres, when the 
French came in during the war, and such things were to 
be had cheaply, you see. I will go across, if the Herr 
wishes, and see if he has it still and will sell it. I don’t 
suppose it cost him much.” 

“I shall be greatly obliged, Herr Landlord. I am willing 
to pay any reasonable price, you understand ; that is, if it 
is in working order and he has some cartridges for it.” 

“Of course, of course ! I will go at once, as soon as the 
wife has started on the Herren’s supper,” and presently 
they heard him set off on his quest. 

Madame, when she brought in their supper, was voluble 
on the subject of black-a-vised Italians, whom she held in 
the greatest detestation. 


166 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Yes, indeed 1 ,” said she. “There may be decent, honest 
folk among them like us Swiss, but they do not look it. 
The very sight of their dirty yellow faces this morning 
gave me quite a turn. They stopped here for a drink, and 
if my man hadn’t been at hand I wouldn’t have felt safe 
for my life. Why didn’t the Herren hand them over to 
the authorities and get them locked up ? It is not good for 
such to be loose about the countryside.” 

“Well, you see, it was miles away from everywhere, and 
when we’d done with them two of them were lying insensible, 
and the other was running away as hard as he could. And 
we thought they had only come after us for the sake of 
plunder, and would go back to where they came from. 
We had no idea they were going to travel the same way as 
ourselves.” 

“Well, it is much to be hoped that you do not run 
across them again.” 

“If that revolver is available, I don’t mind. It is they 
that will do the running in that case.” 

“If Louis Schmalz will sell it, my many will get it, I am 
certain. He is greatly interested in the Herren, I can 
assure them.” 

And an hour later, as they sat smoking in great com- 
fort by the stove, the door opened and the landlord came 
in with another big Switzer, whom he introduced as Louis 
Schmalz, and who lightened Verney’s heart by the produc- 
tion from his coat pocket of a large army revolver, which 
had evidently just gone through a process of quick clean- 
ing and oiling. 

“It is all in good order, mein Herr he said, “and I 
have here a dozen cartridges, all I have left.” 

“Quite enough, Herr Schmalz, for my possible require- 
ments, though it is chiefly as a matter of precaution that 
I want it. And the price now?” 


PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES 


167 


“Well — I thought — what would the Herr say to seventy- 
five francs?” 

“Intrinsically,” said Yerney with a smile, “I could not 
truthfully say it was a bargain at the price.” 

“Well, perhaps it is a bit too much. What would the 
Herr say to sixty francs ?” 

“What would Herr Schmalz say to fifty?” 

“A bargain!” said Herr Schmalz quickly, and laid 
revolver and cartridges before him. 

“Is there any objection to trying one shot outside, Herr 
Landlord ? It won’t bring anything or anybody about our 
ears, will it?” 

“Not at all. We are used to guns here, and there is no 
snow to come down.” 

So, after carefully testing its mechanism, Verney push- 
ed in a cartridge and went to the door, and the report 
bellowed satisfactorily up into the mountains and down 
the valley. 

“Quite all right!” said Verney, “and I am greatly ob- 
liged to you, Herr Landlord, and to you, Herr Schmalz, 
for being willing to part with your souvenir. Here is the 
money. You will perhaps join us over our coffee.” 

As they sat puffing with great enjoyment a couple of 
Verney’s cigars, and sipping their coffee and cognac, he 
led Herr Schmalz to speak of the things he saw in 1870, 
when the French troops under Bourbaki sought refuge 
from their pursuers by crossing the border into Switzer- 
land. 

“A terrible time,” he said, with deep feeling. “Sights 
such as I never wish to see again, Herren,” and he shook 
his head meaningly. “It was in the dead of the winter, you 
know, and those poor fellows were half clothed, unshod, 
absolutely barefooted some of them, starving! Ay, like 
wolves, they were. If a horse fell, and they were as weak 
as the men, it was only bones that were left in a very few 


168 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


minutes. Eighty thousand of them there were, and every 
one of them just a bundle of misery.” 

“It is past thinking of,” said Verney. 

“We, who saw, will never forget it, mein Herr — never! 
It is many years ago, but I dream of those things still at 
times, and see the hollow, white faces and the sad, hungry 
eyes.” 

They got presently to discussion of their route over the 
mountains. 

“There are two ways, are there not?” asked Verney. “I 
think the landlord of the Post said something of the kind.” 

“There is a new way some take in the summer,” said 
Herr Schmalz. “Right up the Engstligen Alp, and down 
into the Ueschinen Thai and across the glacier under Fel- 
senhorn. But if the Herren will be advised they will keep 
to the old track by Artelen and under the Tschingellochtig- 
horn, at this time of year. There may be snow, in any 
case, but the path is a better one and more easily kept.” 

“There is fresh snow up there each morning,” said the 
landlord, with a jerk of the head, “but it should not lie 
thick under Tschingellochtighorn yet. If it should by any 
ill-luck come on thick, the Herren should make a push and 
get on to old Hans Unger’s hut. They can always shelter 
there.” 

“Any accommodation for travellers?” 

“Not to say exactly accommodation, mein Herr , but in 
case of need Hans Unger’s would be better than the moun- 
tain-side.” 

“Well, we’ll hope not to trouble him to any great extent. 
It must be a lonely life up there.” 

“He seems to thrive on it. But, for me, I like to have 
neighbours within reach, even if they’re a mile or two 
away. At times old Hans has been locked up there for 
weeks at a time, and we hardly expected to see him again. 


PRECAUTIONARY MEASURES 


169 


But he always burrows out when he’s caught like that, 
and comes down smiling and happy.” 

“A philosopher, evidently.” 

The girls were very quiet, and Verney feared that appre- 
hensions concerning the Italians were preying upon them, 
and possibly some also concerning the morrow’s journey. 

He did his best to set their fears at rest. 

“Just think what a time we’d have had with those rascals 
yesterday if we’d had this little weapon up our sleeve! 
It’s wonderful what a difference a revolver makes — to the 
man who’s at the right end of it — and the man who’s at 
the wrong end of it also.” 

“All the same, we will hope it won’t be needed,” said 
Sonia, with less spirit than was usual with her. 

“We will certainly hope that, but, as certainly, we will 
put it to good use if needs be. And meanwhile it is a great 
satisfaction to have it, and we are greatly indebted to Herr 
Schmalz for parting with it.” 

“It is in a good cause,” bowed Herr Schmalz. “If mein 
Herr will shoot all three of those Italians with it, it will be 
a great satisfaction to us. And now I have a dark walk, 
so, with permission of the Herren, I will be moving,” and he 
and the landlord bowed themselves out. 

“Please don’t worry over those little wretches,” urged 
Verney earnestly, as he bade the girls good-night. “The 
chances are a thousand to one that they know nothing 
about our movements, and that they are down in the Gemmi 
by this time. You’ll see we shall have no trouble, and as 
we start half-way it will be an easy day for us.” 

But still the girls seemed burdened in their minds. 

And it cannot be doubted that certain temperaments 
suffer at times from a shadowy premonition of coming ill. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


CATACLYSM 

I T was another fitfully gleaming morning, with a sun 
that shone brightly at times, but a chill in the air all 
the time, as they passed hearty bood-byes with Mad- 
ame and the landlord, and took the road up to Artelen, 
with good store of provisions in their rilcksacs, for there 
was no house of call, save Hans Unger’s hut, until they 
should reach Schwarenbach, close by the Dauben See. 

Wild Strubel and the Amerten Horn and a dozen other 
snowy peaks gleamed and gloomed on their right, and 
straight ahead frowned their special obstacle, with whose 
name they had become so familiar in these last two days, 
the great Tschingellochtighorn, a name they were, some 
of them, never to forget. 

“They are wonderful,” said Verney, as they stood for a 
last look at the further peaks before the side of old 
Shingle, as he called it for short, shut them out of sight. 

“They are deadly grand,” said Sonia impressively. “I 
feel as if I had never been on quite such intimate terms with 
snowy peaks before.” 

“We’ll know old Shingle here better still before we’ve 
done with him.” 

“I believe you’re absolutely rejoicing in the thought of 
getting the better of him.” 

“Oh, no, we’re only going round his shoulder, you see. 
To really conquer him one would have to go right up and 
sit on his head. And, after all, compared with the big 

170 


CATACLYSM 


171 


fellows, he’s only a hill — not nine thousand feet — a mere 
hummock. Not even a pimple from one of your white 
clouds.” 

“Hill Difficulty !” panted Sonia, as they got on to thin 
snow. “Big nails in one’s shoes would have been no bad 
idea.” 

“Why didn’t I think of that now? And why didn’t 
you suggest it?” 

“Didn’t know ... it would . . . be so slip- 

pery.” 

He took Darya’s arm and eased the way for her, and 
they climbed slowly upwards, with a wonderful view back 
down the valley to Adelboden. 

As they passed' through Artelen they made inquiry after 
the three Italians, and were told that they had been there 
yesterday and had gone on, intending probably to stop 
the night at Bachen, where the higher path from Kanders- 
teg joins that from Artelen. 

This was quite satisfactory, and they pushed on with 
easier minds. As they slowly topped the ridge they made 
the acquaintance of another family of white giants — Loh- 
ner, and the Fisistock, and the Dolden Horn, and just as 
they took the winding path that snaked its tortuous way 
down to the Dauben See, they saw a man coming slowly 
along towards them. 

With his head bent, and a large pannier on his back, 
he looked like a great, brown beetle crawling along the 
white mountain-side, now lost in a turn of the path, now 
emerging slowly into sight again, never pausing for breath 
or to look at the wonders about him, just plodding on with 
slow and calculated and absolutely noiseless steps, lost 
either in deep thought or profoundest stolidity. 

“Master Hans Unger himself, for a ducat!” said Ver- 
ney, as they stopped to breathe and watch him, and could 
make out now his straggling grey hair and long white 


172 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


beard. “We shall not find him at home then, and I had 
hoped for a rest and a chat with him in his own house.” 

It was anything but a stolid 1 face that rose in surprise 
to theirs, when Verney greeted him at less than a dozen 
paces from where they stood, with a loud and cheery — 

“Good morning, mein Herr! Surely you are Master 
Hans Unger!” 

“ Jawohl !” said the ancient, raising first a warning hand 
and then taking his long, curved pipe from his mouth. 
Then he straightened up, and leaning on his big staff 
eyed them keenly, one after the other, through a pair of 
deep, steady, blue eyes. “But — gently, mein Herr! Yes, I 
am Hans Unger. And you?” 

“Oh, we’re just tramps,” laughed Verney. “But why 
gently, Herr Unger?” 

“When one’s life has been spent among the snows, mein 
Herr , one learns the need of caution. There are cornices 
even about here where the new snow hangs by threads and a 
sneeze might bring it down.” 

“Goodness !” said Sonia. 

“Yes, of a truth, the snow life makes for quietness,” 
said the old man, and added with a patriarchal nod — 
“quietness both of mind and body. . . . Are you for 

the Gemmi?” 

“We hope to make Schwarenbach to-day, at all events, 
and we had hoped to call upon you at home. We were 
also bringing you some small presents, Herr Unger — to- 
bacco, coffee, Kirsch and the latest newspapers.” 

“That is rare and good of you,” and the fine, old face 
beamed in every line and wrinkle, but especially from the 
deep, blue eyes. “And why?” 

“Just out of good feeling for the hermit of the snows, 
and from sympathy with his loneliness.” 

“Rare and 1 good of you, Herren !” he said again. “But 
I am never lonely.” 


CATACLYSM 


173 


“No?” Well, it seemed to us that you very well might 
be.” 

“I have my goats, and my zither, and my books. It is 
a good life. None of us ever quarrel up there.” 

“Happy man ! A philosopher, too, without doubt.” 

“Just the keeper of the path, mein Herr!” with a low, 
quiet laugh of contentment. “Will the Herren do me the 
favour of leaving the things at my house — up on top of 
the wood, in the shed at the back, where the goats cannot 
reach them. You see, I shall stop down there several days 
— a week maybe, and when I come back my pack will be 
heavy. . . . If it is not asking too much of the Her- 

ren ?” 

“Not at all. We’ll stow them safely away.” 

“But that I have been back once this morning, I would 
return with the Herren. You see I met three men, about 
an hour after I had started, and their looks did not please 
me, so I thought best to keep an eye on them till they were 
past my house.” 

“Ah — ha ! We know those three men — black-faced 
Italians, who looked ready to kill a goat or break into a 
house as soon as think of it!” 

“Those were the men, mein Herr. You have met them 
also, then?” 

Verney briefly described their acquaintance with the 
three, and the precautions they had taken in case of a sec- 
ond meeting. 

“I watched them well on their way,” said the old man. 
“They are not likely to climb that path again for any- 
thing my poor house would offer them. Would the Her- 
ren permit me to offer them the key, so that they can 
enter and rest there? It is only about an hour on from 
here, and it is a long spell still to Schwarenbach, and snow 
makes but a cold seat.” 


174 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“That is very good of you, Herr Unger. You trust 
us more than the Italians, then?” 

The old face wrinkled and beamed again. “Surely ! 
I have learned in my life to know a true man when I meet 
him, mein Herr." 

“It is too good an offer to refuse. We have brought 
our dinner with us, and we will eat it in your house, and 
leave the key with the other things in the woodshed — and 
very many thanks for your courtesy.” 

“Not at all. I am still your debtors, Herren. And you 
have given me something better to think of than the other 
three.” 

So they all shook hands very cordially, and the old 
man when he had started on his way, turned again and 
said once more, “And remember to go gently, Herren !” 
and then he bent and trudged away. 

“Beware the pine tree’s withered branch! 

Beware the awful avalanche! 

This was the peasant’s last good-night, — 

A voice replied, far up the height, 

Excelsior !” 

laughingly quoted Verney. “It’s exceedingly a propos, 
only our old friend would certainly have reproved the au- 
dacious youth for speaking so loud, when it might have 
brought about the very catastrophe he was warning him 
against. Surely, good, old Longfellow had met Mr. Unger 
before he wrote that. They must have had a fine crack 
together.” 

“He’s a dear old gentleman,” said Sonia, “and a credit 
to his country.” 

“And his hut, whatever it’s like, will be better than the 
mountain-side,” said Darya. “I used to love the snow 
when I was a child, but one loses the habit of it. I don’t 


CATACLYSM 


175 


think I would care very much if I never saw any more as 
long as I live.” 

“Well, you won’t see much in England, anyway,” said 
Verney. “It generally turns to mud in about five minutes 
— that is, in London. It’s better in the countrv, but vou 
can rarely depend on it even there. . . . What a sight 

that is !” — when at last the rock-strewn valley came into 
view, two thousand feet below them. 

“Desolation !” said Sonia. 

“A glacier-hurst, according to Baedeker. I hope none 
of them on this side is feeling that wav inclined.” 

“There is no glacier above us, is there?” asked Darva, 
with a startled look. 

“No glacier, but a mightv lot of hanging snow. T begin 
to appreciate the true inwardness of Derr Unger’s warn- 
ing. Don’t sneeze, mv children! — or maybe you’ll never 
need to sneeze again.” 

Thev went ouietlv along the narrow nath. a mere lino, 
a scratch along the mighty flank of the mountain, winding 
in and out of everv fold and wrinkle — now in the gloom 
of a doer> furrow whe^e a noisy stream tumbled darklv 
through the fresh, white snow, and babble hoansc warn- 
ings at them, and looked askance at them out of the cor- 
ners of its eves, but was in too great a hurrv after a warm- 
er elimate to evnlam itself more fullv* and again. rnundln«* 
a imecnriou 5 rock buttress, where a single false star) might 
sen^ one rolling into the boulder-strewn vallev below. 

The nath was never in its most exnansive moments, 
more than three feet wide, and was often less. Above it. 
on th'nr right hand, the bare white mountain-side rose 
sha.rulv to a hnrro hanb of snow. wh*eh f^ownod do^n nnon 
ftioTvi 1 +bo bq v-pler wall of o mightv fortress. Below it 
on tb n ir left hand, between tb n m and the vnllev. was nothin o* 
but the long, rough sweeu of the tumbled screes, which in 
their immensity were not without a certain sullen grandeur. 


176 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


In places the path was no more than a simple dent in 
the slope, which swept down to it on the right and down 
from it on the left. In places it had been found necessary 
to cut into the upper slope, which then rose like a wall 
on that side, and hid the heights above. And in places 
it was roughly banked up from below, and the mountain 
streams brawled noisily through the openings in the deftly- 
piled rocks. 

Something of the sinister harshness of their surround- 
ings had fallen upon them. They pushed on in silence, 
Vemey in front, Darya next, Sonia close at her heels, 
hoping at every turn of the path to catch sight of Hans 
Unger’s hut. 

And at last they saw it, not a hundred yards away, but 
had to look twice to make sure. 

“What an odd little swallow’s nest!” whispered Verney, 
for there was something in the atmosphere, besides Hans 
Unger’s warning, which predisposed them towards silence. 

Built in a niche of one of the cuttings, the roof of the 
little house continued the true slope of the mountain-side 
and came down almost to the path. It was indeed, to all 
intents and purposes, a lean-to, built against the rock wall 
in such a way that the winter snows from above should 
continue their downward slide without let or hindrance. 

And that it was stoutly built, and had withstood many 
a bitter winter and many a blazing summer, its rich brown 
velvety colour betokened. 

“Thank God !” murmured Darya, upon whose hypersen- 
sitiveness the harshness of the passage was beginning to 
tell. “I am tired. I shall be glad of a rest.” 

“Two minutes more,” murmured Verney, “and you shall 
have all the rest you want.” 

The path dipped below the upper slope, and led straight 
to the little house. They could see the door in the end 
facing them. 


CATACLYSM 


177 


And suddenly, without sign or note of warning, the 
whole earth and sky were filled with a sound such as none 
of them had ever feared to hear, a sound beyond all powers 
of description — a deep, hoarse rumbling and rushing — a 
muffled thunderous growling roar, as though the mountains 
had broken loose from their foundations and were crashing 
into chaos and dragging the grey sky with them. 

For one moment — so terrific was the sudden change from 
the solemn silence in which they were walking, to this cata- 
clysmic uproar, which stopped their hearts and then set 
them plunging till they were dazed and deafened — they 
stood stupefied. 

Then Darya threw up her hands in wild dismay and 
made for the hut, staggering brokenly as she went. And 
Verney sprang back towards Sonia, whose blanched and 
stricken face seemed to him like the face of a stranger, 
and struck a cold blow at his heart. 

There he could just see up the slope above, and he saw 
what she had seen. The snow barrier above had loosed 
and was coming down upon them — the whole mountain- 
side was crashing down upon them in wild leaps and bounds 
of mad, white fury — a miles-long sea of snow, rolling, tum- 
bling, hurtling into the air, foaming up over its own ragged 
front and lashing out in vicious, long white tongues — 
huge slabs of chocolate-brown earth whirling amid the 
white — stones and boulders, half hidden in a cloud of snow- 
spray, rushing like a dirty surge in front of the bristling 

All this he saw in a flash, and so close upon them was it 
that all hope died within him. 
terror behind. 

Nevertheless, since it is not in a man to die without an 
effort, he gripped Sonia’s wrist and began to drag her 
towards the hut. 

Darya was almost at it, was within touch of it almost, 
when a venomous spear of snow and rubble, tons of it in 


178 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


one long solid shaft, launched itself with a hiss down some 
small crenellation in the rock wall, caught her full, and 
swept her out of sight into the depths below. 

Sonia gave one great bitter cry, and but for his hold 
on her wrist would have followed her, in an utterly vain 
attempt at rescue. 

But it was hopeless. The flume, down which that fatal 
shaft had shot, was cascading snow and earth and stones 
across the path, and in an instant the crest of the ava- 
lanche rolled over them. 

Instinctively, with no hope, but yet because a man still 
struggles for life in the very jaws of death, he flung her 
down under the rock wall, bruising her not a little, though 
she did not know it then, pushed her in close, and knelt 
above her, humping his broad back to the crashing death 
above. 

Infinitesimally almost, the rock wall sloped in at the 
base — a matter of bare inches only, but a hair’s-breadth 
makes for life at times, and here were inches. 

He was buried in a moment. Rocks crashed down on 
him. One caught him on the head, and for a brief space he 
lost hold on himself and fell forward upon her. 

Then he braced himself again and sagavely shook off 
the snow and debris that were covering them. And up 
above, and over all, he was still dimly conscious of that 
hoarse and deadly roar which sounded like the end of all 
things. 

How long it lasted he never knew. Time, in such a 
case, has no measurements. Snow and earth and stones 
poured down on him, and when he got banked up tight, 
he worked, as in a nightmare, to loosen the strain. And 
ever he kept just a space above her who lay there white 
and motionless, and whether she was alive or dead he knew 
not. 

After what seemed an eternity of dull dogged struggling 


CATACLYSM 


179 


against the ever-accumulating pressures of insensate 
might, his head swam until it seemed like to burst with the 
strain, and he lost knowledge of things again. 

But when he came to himself, he was still kneeling there, 
braced rigidly on his outstretched arms, and the dreadful 
roaring was stilled, and all about him was an awesome 
silence. 

When he moved, snow and stones fell down on Sonia, 
but she lay without sign of life. 

They were in a dim grey darkness. But he could still 
breathe. And coming slowly to his fuller self, it seemed to 
him that along the base of the wall the debris lay some- 
what loosely, and he wondered dully if it would be possible 
to clear a way, stone by stone, and so get to the hut, if 
there was any hut left. 

He looked down at Sonia. He thought she must be 
dead. 

Her hat had gone in the struggle. All her soft brown 
hair was tangled about her head and face, and there was 
snow on it, and stones on her body except where he had 
sheltered it. Her feet were buried completely. 

With shaking hand he cleared the snow off her face, 
and began to pick the stones off her body and feet, dispos- 
ing of them as he could in the snow about him. When he 
moved his head and shoulders more snow and stones fell 
upon her, but the accumulation had formed a loose matrix 
about him, and presently, when all the loose stuff had come 
down, he found he could move himself in his hollow without 
serious derangement of its formation. 

With infinite caution, lest disturbance below should 
precipitate catastrophe above, he began drawing out the 
looser stones that blocked the way along the wall, lifting 
them carefully over Sonia and stowing them away behind 
him, scooping up the earth in handfuls and pressing the 
snow down flat. And so, in time, the beginning of a smaM 


180 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


tunnel, along the foot of the wall, shaped itself in front of 
him. 

He was bruised all over, soaked with snow and mud, and 
dripping with perspiration, but, since he could still breathe 
with a certain freedom, he knew that his tunnel must some- 
where be tapping a larger supply of air, and that cheered 
him somewhat. 

He was doing the only thing possible, for the accumula- 
tion above him seemed as solid as a bridge, and there was 
no chance of outlet that way. 

He scraped and lifted doggedly, till he could no longer 
reach without passing over Sonia’s head, which lay to- 
wards the hut. 

Inch by inch he worked himself over her into the little 
gap he had made, and, crouching there, worked on with 
feverish haste and yet but slow results. 

But here and there he came on places where the capri- 
cious falls were packed less tightly, and was filled with 
exultation at each such find. Truly it was odd to think 
that his very soul should rejoice as at treasure-trove, in 
the mere fact of earth and stones being packed less tightly 
here than there. But treasure-trove is as varied as its 
seekers, and here each loose-packed hollow was a step 
towards life. 

For very weariness he had to sink on his heels and rest 
at last, for work in that confined space and constrained 
attitude were trying beyond words. 

He turned and crawled the few steps back to Sonia. 

She still lay white and motionless. Her face was as the 
face of one dead, and a dreadful fear gripped his heart. 

He bent his ear to the parted lips, and caught the faint 
sound of her breathing, and thanked God for it with all 
his heart. Better, he thought, to leave her so for the mo- 
ment, for wakening would bring her only bitterness and 


CATACLYSM 


181 


fear. So he crawled back to his work, and wrought at it 
with all the might that was in him. 

How far he had to go he could not gauge. All he could 
do was to burrow on and on till he came to the hut. 

He had been working for a very long spell, and had got 
many yards away from her, when, in one of his panting 
pauses, he heard behind him — 

“O God ! O God ! . . . Darya ! . . . Darya !” 

and he worked himself round and hastened back to her. 

Her eyes turned fearfully up to his, as he craned over 
her head, and her face stiffened with terror. He did not 
know till afterwards what a terrifying object he was, all 
mud and sweat and blood from a cut on the head. 

“Thank God, you are better, dear!” he said, in the full- 
ness of his heart. “I am clearing a way to the hut. Just 
lie still for a bit. It is only a question of time, and I will 
come back every now and then.” 

“Darya?” she murmured. 

But he had no words to tell her then. Rightly or wrong- 
ly, he bent down and kissed her cold forehead and crept 
away to his work. 

Twice, at intervals, he came back to her, and each time 
her eyes turned up to him in silent response to his coming, 
and then he crawled away again, and scraped and pulled 
with bleeding fingers, and rejoiced at so small a thing as a 
stone coming away easily and affording him speedier 
progress. 

But, the third time he came, she was on her knees, peer- 
ing into his tunnel, awaiting him. 

“Let me help,” she said, and followed him back. 

They made better way now, for he could pass the stones 
to her, and he showed her how to dispose of them. The 
larger ones she pushed and carried back to the place where 
she had been lying, the smaller were disposed of in the 
softer patches of snow. 


182 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


At last, through the stones in front, Verney’s fingers 
touched wood, and he joyfully whispered the good news to 
her. It was only the wood-shed he had come upon, how- 
ever, and it took him still a long time and heavy labour to 
reach and clear the door. But working with the goal in 
touch was a very different thing from groping along in un- 
certainty. 

He got a sufficient space cleared round the opening at 
last, and when he rooted in his pocket for the key, his 
broken nails scraped cold chills down his spine, and his 
hand shook so that he could hardly fit the key into the 
lock. And as it rattled in at last a frightened bleat inside 
gave them welcome. 

With every precaution he pushed open the lower half 
of a double door, and they crawled safely into Hans 
Unger’s hut. 


CHAPTER XIX 


unger’s hut 

S AFE in the hut, Verney’s first irresponsible act was to 
fall asprawl on the floor and lie as one dead. 

Every ounce of will-power he possessed had been 
exerted to its utmost, to sustain the tremendous call upon 
his energies while the need lasted. But the goal obtained, 
Nature stepped in and claimed her needed relaxation. 

He lay utterly spent, and Sonia thought him dead. And 
somewhere close at hand, a goat never ceased to bleat 
anxious inquiries as to who they were and what was hap- 
pening. 

She knelt down by him, her face drawn and white, terror 
in her eyes, and an overwhelming sorrow in her heart. 

It was she who had brought him to this — for her that he 
had planned and toiled so bravely and so well. He was a 
good and gallant gentleman, worthy of any woman’s love. 

The bitter tears streamed down her face at sight of him 
lying there so worn and bruised and broken — and all, she 
knew, for her. 

With a sob, and a strange wild gesture of the hands 
and uplift of the eyes, as though she cast aside every con- 
sideration but one, she bent suddenly and kissed him — 
blood and dirt and all — crying aloud 1 , “Oh — don’t die! 
Don’t die!” 

And at that he moved, and presently sat up and looked 
dazedly round, and at sight of her suddenly flushed face 
he tried to get up. 


183 


184 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Sorry !” he murmured apologetically. “Hope I didn’t 
frighten you!” 

“I was afraid you were dead,” she panted, with the ter- 
ror of it still in her eyes. 

“Very stupid of me ! I can’t think what took me.” His 
hand wandered vaguely over his head. “I got some bumps, 
I think,” and he got up on to his feet. Then one of them 
gave way under him, and he sank down again, with a twist 
of pain in his face which he could not suppress. 

“I’m afraid that ankle’s got a bit of a warp,” he said. 
“But I never felt it till now. I’ll rest it a minute or two, 
and then tie it up. It’s probably nothing.” 

But he looked very white and worn, and, her mind rising 
to the necessity, she said with sudden peremptoriness, 
“Wait! Just sit where you are!” — and to his surprise 
crept out of the door. And possibly, in view of her late 
amazing declension from her own standard of seemliness, 
the opportunity of recovering her equanimity in the se- 
clusion of the tunnel was grateful to her. 

She was gone what seemed to him a very long time, but 
she came- back at last, bringing his riicksac and her own, 
which she had suddenly remembered seeing on the ground 
in their first sanctuary. And, to her joy, the bottle of 
Kirsch, carefully packed among the papers and tobacco 
by the landlord at Adelboden, was intact. 

She looked round and found a cup hanging on a nail, 
and asked in almost a matter-of-fact voice, “Have you a 
corkscrew?” 

He had one in his pocket-knife, and when he had drawn 
the cork she poured out a generous allowance and tender- 
ed it to him. “You first, please!” he said. “I’m sure you 
need it quite as much as I do.” 

So she drank a mouthful and he the rest, and it helped 
momentarily to tighten up their nerves again, for they had 
been very close to death and had escaped as by a miracle. 


UNGER’S HUT 


185 


But all that had passed, since she first came to herself, 
lying all alone in the dim horror of the tunnel, had been 
abnormal to her and enforced or induced solely by the 
urgency of the moment’s needs. 

The current of her life, and his also to a less extent, had 
been smitten with so rough a hand that for one dreadful 
mqment it had seemed to stop, and then had welled up 
into unusual courses under pressure of finding its way. 
And now that the way was found, recollection came back 
and overwhelmed her in a flood of horror and despair. 

She had been half-kneeling, half-sitting on the floor 
while he drank. Now as the ghastliness of it all came surg- 
ing back upon her, she collapsed in a heap with her arms 
outstretched, moaning, “Oh, Darya ! Darya ! Darya !” 

He was greatly distressed for her. But no words could 
heal so grim a wound, and he attempted none. 

He sat quietly by her side, and laid his torn and throb- 
bing hand on her shoulder, and soothed it gently, as a 
mother soothes her suffering child. 

His head hummed stupidly yet. He felt one great mass 
of bruises. Every muscle in his body ached. And his 
twisted ankle began to pain him horribly. 

He wisely let her grief have its way. When the first 
violence of it was spent he knew she would be calmer. Her 
convulsive sobbing beat on his heart, but it would do her 
good. 

He silently told her of his sympathy by the touch of 
his hand on her shoulder, and' sat quietly looking about him 
in the dim light, to see, if he could, what chances of life 
Hans Unger’s hut might offer them. 

As far as he could make out, the room they were in was 
the living room. There was a shuttered window in the 
side wall, which would probably look down into the valley, 
and a door opposite the one by which they had entered led 
probably to~the old man’s bedroom. In the wall between 


186 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


the two rooms, and 1 so serving both, was a good-sized stove, 
the funnel of which ran through the wall on his right. 
Another door, in the wall through which the stove-pipe 
ran, led, he expected, to the wood-shed, for it was there 
the goat was bleating plaintively from time to time. It had 
been vociferous when first they came in, but finding no 
attention paid to its cries had calmed down somewhat, 
and now only murmured spasmodically at intervals. 

The roof and walls of the little house were built of pine 
trunks of size, built evidently with clear foreknowledge 
of what they might have to withstand, and the roof was 
further strengthened by solid pine-trunk props inside. It 
looked strong enough to stand anything, he thought. Both 
roof and walls were, he found later on, tightly plugged 
with clay or mud, then stuffed with dried grass, and stoutly 
boarded over on the outside and partly panelled within. 
There were cupboards round the walls, a zither hanging by 
a string from a nail, and a rough shelf containing about a 
dozen books. 

He grew very cold sitting there in his soaked things. 
But if he could only light that stove, he thought, the little 
house would be warm and cosy enough. For both their 
sakes he must try. 

He bent over the forlorn little figure and said softly — 

“I am going to light a fire, or we shall starve here.” 

She did not move, and he hoped she had sobbed herself 
to sleep. So he got up on one leg and hopped across to 
the side door, and as soon as he opened it, a little black and 
white kid came bounding into the room, stared at him with 
a pair of glassy yellow eyes, and made as though it would 
butt him. 

The door led, as he expected, to an outhouse, in which 
was an immense stock of firing, and hay for the goats. 
It was a long narrow chamber, between the house and the 
side of the mountain, and all under the one sloping roof. 


UNGER’S HUT 


187 


Between the piles of cut wood at the front there was a nar- 
row opening for the goats to go in and out, and the stove- 
pipe ran up through the roof. 

He gathered an armful of small pieces and hopped back 
to the living room, where he found the kid skipping play- 
fully round Sonia and feinting at her with his little black 
head, as an invitation to a game. 

He sliced a handful of splinters off one of the broken 
pieces, laid his fire as scientifically as he knew how, applied 
a match, and was cheered by the sight of the blaze. 

But, as he would have recognised if his wits had not 
been so disorganized, smoke must have a vent, and the 
stove-pipe was sure to be under the snowfall. And so, 
while yet he was rejoicing in the outleap of the flames, 
the smoke came welling slowly out of the stove and hung 
thick in the room. Their supply of air might, he thought, 
be limited, and it would very evidently soon become a ques- 
tion whether it would be better to smother in the enjoy- 
ment of a fire or die of cold. 

But he clung to his fire, and so hopped out again to the 
wood-shed to see if there was anything there that might 
help him. The kid took his ungainly progression as a 
game, and came skipping after him with wooden leaps, as 
though trying to imitate him. 

There were a number of slim pine poles, twenty feet or 
so in length and straight as spears, lying on the ground, 
and they gave him an idea. 

He wanted an opening to the upper air. Why could he 
not thrust one or more of these poles through the crust 
above and so make an outlet for the smoke and an inlet 
for fresh air. All would depend on the thickness and com- 
position of what lay above, and he could but try. 

But there was no room to handle his pole in the tunnel, 
and he sat discomfited on a pile of hay to think it out, 


188 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


frtfi 


while the black-and-white kid butted at his legs and begged 
for more hopping games. 

Then his eye lighted again on the black stove-pipe, and 
it seemed to him that if he could break it off at the bend, 
and pull the top part down, it would at all events offer 
scope for further boring operations against the crust 
above. 

His twisted ankle hurt him horribly as it swung about, 
so he padded it with hay, and bound half-a-dozen pieces of 
wood round it with his handkerchief, and found it much less 
in his way. 

By means of a chair from the room he got his hands 
round the pipe, and swinging all his weight on it, it came 
apart with a crash and landed him in a heap on the floor. 
The upper part of the pipe remained fixed in the roof, 
but he thought it likely that the rush of the snow slide 
would have broken it off up above, and when he thrust up 
one of his poles he found that it was so. The pole struck 
at once into snow and stones, and he worked it up and 
round and round, and rejoiced at every slow inch gained. 

It was desperately hard work, wanting one leg, but 
flakes of snow and stones kept pattering down and cheered 
him on. If his progress was slow, he was at all events 
making headway. When he had bored to the extent of his 
reach, he stood precariously on the chair and worked away, 
and wondered what depth of stuff there could be up there, 
for quite ten feet of pole were outside the roof. 

In one of his pauses for rest, he went back into the room, 
and to his great contentment found Sonia still sleeping 
soundly, worn out with sorrow and the undue strain she 
had gone through. 

The roof was full of smoke, but it hung there, and he 
laid a few pine chips on the embers to keep his fire from 
going out. 

Poking about in cupboards and presses to learn what 


UNGER’S HUT 


189 


their resources might be, he came on a small lamp nearly 
full of oil, various neat wooden boxes, one of which con- 
tained flour and another meal, and in the bottom of a cup- 
board he found a coil of stout rope such as mountain 
guides use. 

This came in useful at once. He cut off a piece and 
unravelled it, and so was able to splice a second pole to 
the butt of the one he was using, and could then stand 
on the floor and work from there with greater advantage. 

He was so worn out that the weight of the two poles 
became at last almost too much for him. There must be 
more than twenty feet of snow above them, he reckoned, 
for the upper pole was quite out of sight and still snow 
came pattering down after each lumbering thrust. The 
kid had long since given him up as a playfellow beneath 
contempt, and had packed himself up and gone to sleep 
in a nest of hay. 

He had just made up his mind that he could do no more 
that night, and that he must put out the fire and they 
must get along as best they could, when to his joy his 
upward thrust at last met no resistance. He gave his 
poles a final twist round and dropped panting into the hay 
alongside the kid. They would not smother that night, at 
any rate, and on the morrow he would enlarge the hole and 
do his best to make others. 

And now that that weight was off his mind he found 
himself desperately hungry. He had eaten nothing since 
breakfast, and only first breakfast at that, and the terri- 
ble time between had used him up most wastefully. 

He lit the lamp and filled a kettle, which he found by 
the stove, with the cleanest snow he could scoop out of the 
tunnel, and presently had boiling water, and so coffee, 
from the packet they had brought for old Hans. 

He was in doubt whether to wake Sonia or to let her 
sleep on. But sleep, after all, is the greatest of restorers, 


190 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


and wakening would bring back to her all the bitterness of 
her loss, and he decided to leave her as she was. 

He could, perhaps, make her more comfortable, how- 
ever. So he went into the back room, which, as he ex- 
pected, was the old man’s sleeping-room, and contained 
a neatly made bed carefully covered over with large, warm 
brown blankets. 

He carried away a couple of the blankets and. af pillow, 
and covered the sleeping girl with the first, and deftly 
raised her head and slipped the other under it. 

Then he drew a chair to the stove and made a much- 
needed meal off sandwiches and hot coffee and Kirsh, and 
felt himself more his own man again. 

In the bedroom he had caught a glimpse of his face in 
a small looking-glass which hung on the wall, and had 
recoiled at the sight. Plastered with mud and sweat and 
blood, the face that looked back at him out of the glass 
was the ghastliest object he had seen for many a day. 
Even the sallow, black-jowled three were refined and gen- 
tlemanly in comparison. 

But, after all, these were the stains of honourable war- 
fare, and, fastidious as he naturally was, the craving for 
food claimed precedence over all else, and they had to wait. 

Now, however, that hunger’s paramount claim was satis- 
fied, he proceeded to remove the more obtrusive signs of 
the conflict, with the assistance of a tin basin and thawed 
snow-water, and a scrap of hard and unsympathetic soap 
he found in the bedroom. 

His soaked clothes had long since dried on him. They 
were desperately uncomfortable, but at present he could 
do nothing to render them less so. The thought of a warm 
bath and clean clothes tantalised him as the mirage-lake 
does the desert wanderer. 

When he rolled up his shirt sleeves he found that the 
cut on his left arm had broken loose again, and had been 


UNGER’S HUT 


191 


bleeding freely; and considering that he had never given 
it a thought, and had been working for hours like a navvy, 
it did not surprise him. 

When at last he felt himself somewhat less repulsive, 
he put out the lamp, replenished the stove, drew two chairs 
close up to it, and lit the cigar he had been looking forward 
to for hours past. 

And as the fragrant smoke curled about him, wrap- 
ping him in that soft cloud of philosophic content which 
it is the special province of tobacco to induce, his mind 
found leisure at last to travel quietly back over the day’s 
happenings. 

The philosophic content was shattered for the moment 
as he looked again up that awful white slope and saw it 
rushing down upon them. And again, as he saw that 
murderous white shaft hurl Darya into the depths. Poor 
girl ! Poor girl ! Her troubles were over indeed — but not 
as they had planned and hoped. 

He was glad Sonia was sleeping. He had seen the 
intensity of her devotion to her sister. Her suffering 
would be terrible. The longer she slept the better she 
would bear the wakening. 

He travelled again the nightmare passage of the tunnel, 
and looked at his ragged fingers distressfully. 

His foot, with its rough padding and bandages, looked 
like a bad case of elephantiasis. It was painful again, 
and ought, he thought, to be bathed with hot water. 

But he was too dead tired. Even the cigar lost its 
flavour, and was powerless to dispel the heaviness of his 
thoughts. 

Still, they were alive — and with a shiver he said to him- 
self : “Suppose it had been Sonia who lay out there on the 
hill-side, broken and smothered under the snow — and I 
was sitting here thinking of her!” 


192 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


And he looked at Sonia, sleeping on the floor there, and 
he said to himself with all the fervour that was in him: 
“Thank God! Thank God! To have lost her so, just 
when I had found her, would have been bitterer than 
death! . . . God be thanked for His mercy to us 

both !” 

He cut off the lighted end of his cigar and dropped 
it into the stove, and stowed the other part carefully away, 
for his supply was limited, and how long they might be 
kept there he could not tell. 

It might be days . . . Would they find enough to 

live on? . . . perhaps he should not have eaten so 
much . . . There was the kid . . . and as he 
was wondering dimly which would be the gentlest way of 
killing the kid, his head sank down on his chest and he 
slept. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE COOK AND THE NAVVY 

S ONIA was wakened from her long lethargic sleep by 
a cold kiss in the ear, and an inquisitive snuffle in 
the nape of her neck. 

She sat up with a startled “Oh !” which was greeted by 
the intruder with a backward skip of four tiny pattering 
feet and a tremendous whimper. 

It was all as dark as a tomb, except for one dull red 
spot, like a baleful eye, which was the lower trap of the 
stove. 

She heard the heavy regular breathing of the spent 
man, and presently made out the chairs on which he was 
lying. 

Her hands fell on the blankets which had been spread 
over her, and on the pillow, and she recognised his thought- 
fulness, and was grateful. 

Then all the recollection of her loss came upon her, and 
she drooped forward on to the pillow again with her face 
in her hands, sobbing, “O God ! O God ! My poor Darya ! 
My poor, poor Darya!” 

But presently she sat up again among the blankets, and 
pushed the tangled hair off her face, and instinctively 
smoothed it back, and drew her fingers through and 
through it, and grew calmer. 

It was dreadful, . . dreadful . . . dreadful. 

But it was God’s will . . . and she must bear it. She 

wrestled there in the dark with her heart-break, and bowed 
herself again and again, in bitterest agony. 

“God knows,” she said to herself, “I did it for the best, 
and it has only led to this !” 

193 


194 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


Darya gone — and gone so dreadfully! And Verney 
there! It was she had led him into it all, perhaps to his 
death. There would be two deaths on her hands ! And if 
she herself died also it would be only right and fitting, 
for it was she who had led these others to their deaths ! 

And through it all he had proved himself so brave a 
man, so perfect a gentleman. And she knew why — why 
he had given himself so wholly to her wishes, risking his 
career, his life, everything, without a moment’s hesitation. 
She knew; she knew. And she bowed her head again, 
crushed with the burden that was too heavy for her. 

To herself she scarcely gave a thought. Her bodily 
discomfort was great, her mental agony greater, but her 
thought was wholly for these others — for Darya, for 
whom she had schemed and worked since ever she lost her 
before; and for this gallant young stranger, whose frank 
eyes saw but the surface of things, while her own had been 
fully open to all the possible consequences. 

She took bitterest blame to herself, and writhed in an 
abasement of the spirit that seemed beyond the needs of 
the case. 

Their lives, indeed, were spared for the moment, but it 
might be only for a slower death. Oh that she had died 
with Darya! If that fell blow had wiped them all out 
together, that, she thought, would have been the best. 

A dim sepulchral twilight began to lighten the darkness 
in which she sat. The kid, satisfied of her harmlessness 
and craving company, had gone to sleep in her blankets. 
She felt suddenly weak for want of food. 

Verney ’s rucks ac lay on the floor within arm’s reach. 
She drew it to her and found some sandwiches and began 
to eat ravenously. The kid woke up by instinct and 
bleated loudly for a share. Verney yawned, dropped his 
stiff legs and heavy foot from the chair, and sat up. 

“Hello!” he said, at the dim sight of her. “Breakfast 


THE COOK AND THE NAVVY 


195 


time? Wait a moment and I’ll warm you some coffee, I 
made it last night, but you were so fast asleep that I 
thought it best not to wake you.” 

“It was good of you. The sleep did me good.” 

He got up and stumped out to the shed, and brought in 
an armful of wood for the stove, and set the kettle on it. 

“Your foot?” she said, trying in the dim light to make 
out what made the strange noise as he walked. 

“It kept bumping about last night, so I tied it up as 
well as I could,” he said cheerfully. “You see the place 
got full of smoke, and I had some trouble in making a hole 
to let it out.” 

“And you managed it?” she asked, with a touch of 
hope, now that the food was giving her fresh life. 

“Out there, in the shed, I managed to get a pole up 
to the surface, and that has given us air. I’ll make some 
more holes presently. But, as far as I can make out, 
there must be at least ten feet of stuff above us, perhaps 
more — just there at any rate. Won’t you come to the 
fire?” and he stumped over and carried the blankets close 
to the stove, and she dropped into them again and went 
on eating slowly in silence, while he bustled heavily about 
and talked on, as though in speech lay virtue, or in the 
lack of it sorrowful thought might supervene. 

He brought in still more wood and a couple of handfuls 
of hay for the kid. 

“I think I’ll try opening that window presently,” he 
said. “As far as I remember, the roof came well down 
on that side, and the snow may not be packed so tight 
there. If I can bore through it, it will be a benefit. Here’s 
the coffee, nice and hot. Better dash it with Kirsch to 
kill any germs there may be in snow-water and mud. I’ll 
get some more snow, and you can have a wash if you feel 
like it. I happened to see my face in the glass, and thought 
it was a particularly disreputable Guy Fawkes.” 


196 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Oh, let me get it,” as he was going heavily out to the 
tunnel after the snow, and she jumped up and took the 
basin out of his hands. 

“There is a large choice out there,” he called after her. 
“Please pick the cleanest you can find. . . . Now 

we’ll have water in five minutes, and then you can retire 
to Herr Unger’s bedroom and make your toilet. Stay, I’ll 
light the lamp, and then you’ll be able to see what you’re 
doing !” 

And when she had gone into the inner room, he rooted 
about till he found a milk-can, and filled it with snow 
and set it by the stove to melt. 

He was drinking coffee and munching a sandwich when 
she came out, and her neatly coiled hair, twisted round 
her head in thick plaits, Bernese fashion, and her general 
neatness, made him feel loathsomely rough and unclean. 

“Now, you will please let me see to your foot,” she said 
with quiet decision. “How is it hurt?” 

“I got a twist, I’m afraid. It feels about twice as big 
as it ought to do, and very much in the way.” 

“We’ll bathe it with hot water and then bandage it 
up. There are clean sheets in a box in there. I’ll tear 
a strip off one. Can you get off those splints?” And he 
made haste to get rid of them, and was attempting to wash 
his foot when she came back. 

“I’m full of mud,” he said apologetically. “But I’ll try 
and get rid of it by degrees.” 

But she dissipated the need for any such remark with 
a wave of the hands. 

“By God’s mercy,” she said, with a quiver in her voice, 
“we are alive. We must do the best we can.” 

“Yes . . . I do thank God for His mercy. . 

It was a miracle.” 

“Can we . how long, do you think — ” she began, 


THE COOK AND THE NAVVY 


197 


and the tears were running down her face and dropping 
into the water, and he knew she was thinking of Darya. 

44 We will root about presently and see what there is in 
the house. That man at Windeschwand said the old 
chap generally kept a good supply for just such an occa- 
sion as this. Though I should imagine this was some- 
thing beyond the usual. . . . That eases it very much, 

thank you !” as her soft fingers bathed the swollen ankle 
and sent thrills up to his heart. “It is very good of you !” 

44 0h don’t ! Don’t !” her swimming eyes glanced up at 
him in reproof. “When I think of all . .1 have 

. led you into . . .” and a sob jerked out un- 

controllably. 

“Now it is my turn to say ‘Don’t!’ You know it was 
my own very greatest desire to be of service to you. My 

only regret is ” But a mute gesture of appeal with 

her hand stopped him. The wound was too raw yet. 

She bandaged his foot tightly and left it much more 
comfortable than she had found it, and in a corner she 
discovered a pair of old wooden shoes, large enough to 
admit the bandaged foot and a padding of hay. And 
while she was at it he begged her to strap up his arm again, 
as the opened wound caused him a certain amount of in- 
convenience. 

Then, since sitting still meant brooding, he drew her 
into an examination of their resources. 

They poked into every cupboard, box, receptacle of any 
and every kind, assured that old Hans would make no ob- 
jection under the circumstances. And the black-and- 
white kid, waking up, followed them about and watched all 
their doings, with the intelligently inquisitive air of a 
child overlooking the proceedings of a couple of burglars 
ransacking its father’s house. 

“Ah,” said Vemey, offering to pat its head and receiv- 
ing a pair of incipient horns in reply, “I remember wonder- 


198 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


in g which would be the easiest way to kill you, young gen- 
tleman, just before I fell asleep last night.” 

“Poor little fellow! I would sooner starve than kill 
him,” said Sonia. 

“Here are flour and meal,” said Verney. “I came on 
them last night. About five pounds of each, I should say, 
at a guess.” 

“This looks like . . . butter, I think,” said Sonia, 

smelling at a couple of little stone jars which she had 
hauled out. “Made from goats’ milk, I should say.” 

“What’s this now?” 

“Lard,” she said, after smelling it also. 

“Here’s some sugar — not much unfortunately. And 
coffee — and we have what we brought as well. I wish 
now we’d been three times as generous to the old boy.” 

“Honey,” said Sonia, bringing out six little jars. 

“Cheeses,” and he rolled out three little red cannon- 
balls. “And, of all things — two — four — six tins of sar- 
dines. Sensible stock all the same, since they’d keep any 
length of time. And we have the bottle of Kirsch we 
brought up with us, and the tobacco, but I’m afraid that 
won’t be of much use to you.” 

“Do you think . . . how long . . .’’she began. 

“The old man said he might stop down there for a 
week,” he said. “So I should think that would be the ex- 
treme. If he hears about the slide he will probably come 
up sooner, to see how his house has fared. But I think 
we should be able to live on those things for a week. Don’t 
you think so?” 

“We shall not starve,” she said quietly. 

“Now I want to try if I can pierce the block outside 
the window there. If I can get those shutters open,” and 
he hobbled across to try, with the inquisitive kid at his 
heels. 

The windows opened inwards. He unbolted the shut- 


THE COOK AND THE NAVVY 


199 


ters, and to his surprise, found no difficulty in throwing 
them open. He climbed through, and found a consider- 
able free space under the wide overhanging eaves of the 
roof, but his further outward progress was barred by the 
usual raw agglomeration of earth and rocks and snow, 
which covered them like a huge shroud. And here, as the 
sliding mass swept over the roof it had fallen into the open 
space under the eaves, and piled itself gradually into a 
tight triangular wedge of rubble, through which he would 
have to make his way before he reached the outer covering 
at all. 

It looked like being a tough job, and he considered the 
idea of attempting some possibly weaker spot in the tun- 
nel. But there, working space was very circumscribed, 
while here it was ample. So he got one of his pine poles, 
and worked it into the mass, with the butt sticking through 
into the room, and delved away at it with dogged deter- 
mination, but without making much impression. 

“That will take some hard work,” he said, as he paused, 
panting hard with his exertions. “But if we can manage 
it, it will improve our ventilation immensely. And I’ve 
been thinking — if we can get a hole through, we might 
hang out a flag of some kind that might possibly be seen 
from the valley below. Something blue or red, if we can 
find anything. Would you mind having a look round 
among the old chap’s things?” 

He was rooting about the shed for a pole more to his 
liking, when he made two more discoveries and hobbled in 
joyfully to tell her. 

“There’s quite a good-sized box of potatoes in there, 
and a full can of paraffin. They’ll be a great help.” 

“A great help,” she agreed, from the inner room, where 
she was on her knees before Herr Unger’s clothes chest. 

He was hard at work, thrusting and gouging at the 


200 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


snow-bank with his pole, when she came out with an old 
red shirt in her hand. 

“How will this do?” she asked through the window. 

“The very thing. Will you please slit it in two, and 
we’ll hoist a flag on each pole, as soon as I get through 
here.” 

His one great desire at present was to keep her mind 
busy on no matter what — anything rather than let her 
sit with folded hands brooding over her loss. 

She understood perfectly, appreciated the wisdom of 
it, and did her utmost to fall in with his idea without 
showing her perception of it. But she thought how very 
like a man it was, to think that any amount of work could 
stop a woman thinking. Was it not one of woman’s clev- 
erest capabilities that while her hands were at their busi- 
est her thoughts were at their busiest too ? 

But even there, you see, he was not entirely astray in 
his hopes, for it was better even to be thinking such things 
than to sit brooding over the irrevocable. 

Her face was calm again, but deadly pale, and some- 
what set and rigid in its quietness, as though an effort 
of the will were necessary thereto. But there was a 
shadow on it, and her eyes were heavy with recollection, 
and set in such dark circles that he wondered more than 
once if he could by some mischance have struck her in the 
face when he flung her down so brusquely in the angle of 
the path. 

“Are you anything of a cook?” he broke out suddenly 
one time, determined to keep her at work. 

“I can cook, of course.” 

“I was wondering how we could use that flour and the 
meal. We shall finish the last of the sandwiches for din- 
ner. Can we turn the other things to account, do you 
think ?” 

“I will see what I can do,” and he plumed himself once 


THE COOK AND THE NAVVY 


201 


more on having found her work which would occupy all 
her thoughts. 

“How about the stove?” he asked. “Is it all right for 
cooking?” 

“Herr Unger must have done all his cooking on it. It 
will do! Where are the potatoes you spoke of?” 

“I’ll bring you some,” and he hobbled out to the shed 
and came back with an armful, and when he had got her 
a basin full of snow, and she had turned it into water, she 
set to work on them. And each time he stole a glance at 
the sober face — beautiful beyond words to him, even in its 
unusual gravity, and apparently intent on what she was 
doing — he rejoiced at her quiet courage, and at the high 
spirit which had never permitted one word of complaint or 
apprehension to escape her. 

That her heart was wrung with sorrow at her loss he 
knew, and his own heart ached to offer her such comfort 
as it might. But, while he knew all that was in his own 
heart towards her, and knew too that it was the very best 
and highest that was in him, he had, so far, no right what- 
ever to take it for granted that his feeling was recipro- 
cated. 

Why on earth should it be? — he said to himself. Why 
on earth should she feel for him more than amplest grati- 
tude for the little he had done for her? 

Something more, very much more, would, he hoped with 
all his heart, follow in good time. But at the present 
moment he had known her — and she him — exactly thirteen 
days ! It seemed incredible, for she seemed to have become 
as integral a part of his life as his heart itself. 

Still, incredible or not, there it was, and no amount of 
amazement at the fact could alter it. 

And he knew that if he essayed any attempt at comfort- 
ing her, all that was in his heart must come rushing out 


202 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


pell-mell, and what the end of that might be no man could 
tell — though perhaps a woman might. 

In any case, her sorrow, and the strangeness and deli- 
cacy of the position into which Nature’s rough buffet had 
flung them, set her for him in a holy of holies — a sanctu- 
ary into which even his most reverent love must not at 
present venture — a sacristy which even the fingers of his 
imagination should not profane. All he could do, for the 
moment, was to worship patiently outside the shrine, and 
— in his clever man-like way — keep her mind so occupied 
that she would have no time to brood, either on her loss 
or on anything else. 

Her primitive housekeeping seemed to him to keep her 
busy enough. He was even inclined to rejoice at the dif- 
ficulties she obviously encountered, as tending to distrac- 
tion from less tangible troubles. And he found it highly 
satisfactory when, out of the corner of his eye, he would 
see her brows knit over some culinary problem, which 
would presently drive her to delving into the mysteries of 
Herr Unger’s dark cupboards, and the discovery of the 
utensil she needed or something that would take its place. 

But ever, behind her busy-ness and her apparent absorp- 
tion, was a certain aloofness of spirit, a withdrawing 
within herself, which recalled to his mind the days at Un- 
terhofen when, because Darya was there, he saw so little 
of her. 

And now Darya was gone and he saw her all the time, 
and yet — Yes, somehow, he felt her further from him than 
ever. For in those days she did unbend at times and come 
out of her shell, and he could approach her with a light 
and buoyant heart. But now there was about her a filmy 
veil of reserve more potent against him than plate-armour 
of triple brass. He sighed inaudibly for the old delightful 
camaraderie of those first days on the road, and kept a 
most cheerful face withal. 


THE COOK AND THE NAVVY 


ms 


“This stuff outside is about as hard as old Shingle 
himself,” he said one time, when a long silence was becom- 
ing irksome. 

“I wish I could help you,” and she laid down her own 
work. “I’m afraid you’re not giving your foot a chance.” 

“I’ll rest it when I get through. The extra air and 
light would be such a benefit. But all the heavier stuff 
seems to have accumulated below the eaves here, and it’s 
packed hard and tight.” 

“I saw a pick and some spades in the wood-shed.” 

“Good idea! I’ll try the pick, though it’s not a tool 
I’ve had much acquaintance with. But wood is no use 
against this stuff. Iron may make a better impression,” 
and he was drawing in his pole, when she nipped into the 
shed and came back with a pick and a spade. 

“Try to use your foot as little as possible,” she ordered, 
and he thanked her and hobbled out to make a new attempt 
after light and air. 

She heard him chipping away, and stones and rocks 
rattling down at times, and occasionally a hopeful word 
came through the window. 

“It’s pleasure to see some results, anyway,” he called 
out. . . . “One pick’s worth ten pine poles. Why 

was I never instructed in the arts of the pick and shovel? 

. I would make it an essential part of every boy’s 
education. . . . Three month’s apprenticeship to a 

professional navvy. I shall certainly move for the ap- 
pointment of a chair at Oxford. . . . Why did 
Ruskin never think of that now?” and all the time the 
earth and stones and snow kept tumbling down outside, 
and inside the cook went on with her work with a gravely 
preoccupied face. 

She came to the window one time, on her way to the 
tunnel to get a basinful of snow, and found him coiled 
up at the end of his new burrow. 


204 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“I feel like a miner,” he said cheerfully. “And I guess 
I’m just about as dirty.” 

“I’m getting you some water to wash in. The potatoes 
will be ready in about five minutes.” 

“And I’m quite ready for them. I’ll come out and clean 
up. This is good healthy work for the appetite. It 
might be worth while suggesting it to the doctors also. 

. The Navvy Cure for indigestion, weak appetites, 
and corpulency.” 

“Splendid smell!” he said, sniffing appreciatively, as he 
carried away the basin of water to remove the signs of toil. 

“I must beg of you not to look at my hands,” he said, 
when he came back. “I’ve done my best, but they got 
ragged about a good deal yesterday, and it will take a 
day or two for them to come round.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said sympathetically. “They do look 
bad. ... I will mix some lard and honey, and you 
shall put it on to-night. It may help a little.” 

“That’s very good of you. Those fried potatoes look 
delicious. We’ll have some sardines with them.” 

“I was wondering whether we ought. . . ” 

“How do you mean? With reference to old Unger or 
ourselves ?” 

“Ourselves. Shall we have enough to last until ” 

“Oh, heaps, I’m sure. And I’m as hungry as a wolf.” 

So he got out a tin of sardines and rooted about for an. 
opener, but could not find one, and finally attacked it with 
the large blade of his penknife and a stone, and made 
anything but a skilful job of it. 

“I hope the old boy has some defter way of doing it 
when he offers a fish luncheon to the weary traveller,” he 
said, as he hacked and gouged. 

However, he managed it, in a Way, at last, and they 
made an excellent meal with the help of their stale sand- 


THE COOK AND THE NAVVY 


205 


wiches and some slices off one of the red cannon-balls, and 
coffee. 

They sat in a strange, dim, wavering twilight which fil- 
tered in from the tunnel and the opened shutter — a thin, 
green-white tempering of the gloom to which their eyes 
were accommodating themselves by degrees, but the glow 
from the open door of the stove suffused the ghostly half- 
light with a touch of warmth, which was very cheering 
and acceptable. The snow-light gleamed and gloomed in 
accord with a fitful sun outside, so that at times they could 
see quite clearly, and at times, but for the blazing pine- 
chips, they could hardly have seen one another across the 
table. 

“That little fellow makes one feel quite Robinson-Cru- 
soeish,” said Verney, nodding at the kid, who had spent 
most of the morning basking in the warmth of the stove 
at Sonia’s feet. “He’s quite taken to you. He only came 
out once to see what I was doing, and when some stones 
came down he resented it as a personal insult.” 

“Perhaps he knows you spoke of eating him,” she said 
quietly, and the kid looked up at her with his strange 
glassy eyes, and waggled his aged-looking mouth reprov- 
ingly at Verney. 

So anxious was he to keep her from brooding over 
matters — matters personal and general — that he compel- 
led himself to cheerfulness, though his heart was sore for 
her. But sore on her account only and for that which 
occasioned it. For himself indeed — but for her sorrow — 
no compulsion towards cheerfulness had been needed. 

If, by any strange and inconceivable combination of 
circumstances, they two could have been stranded thus 
together, without the payment of so dreadful a price, how 
his heart would have rejoiced! 

He might not — not even under such circumstances, per- 
haps — have told her in words, hot or cold, all that was in 


206 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


him: not yet. But he could and would show her that all 
his thought of her was of the highest, and that her confi- 
dence in him could never by any possibility be misplaced. 

“I suppose your watch has stopped too,” he asked one 
time. 

“Yes, I forgot all about it.” 

“So did I. But by the light through that funnel hole 
it must be somewhere about mid-day, I think. We shall 
know when the sun sets, at all events. . . to some ex- 

tent, anyway. In the mountains it gets cut off early, of 
course. Fortunately we have the lamp and a fair amount 
of oil. I shall make a bed of hay in this corner by the 
stove. Can you make yourself comfortable in there?” 

“I shall be all right. There are more blankets in a 
chest. How many will you have?” 

“Three, please, if you’re sure you can spare them. 
I expect it will be pretty cold in the night, but I will try 
to keep the stove going. I’ll do my best to get through 
that snow-wall before supper time. Shall we have some 
more of those delicious potatoes?” 

“I thought of trying some cakes.” 

“Delightful! I shall delve away all afternoon in hopes 
of them.” 

He picked away under the eaves for a time, and then the 
urgent necessity of more ventilation at the soonest possi- 
ble moment sent him prospecting down the tunnel, and 
presently he came back for pine poles, and she heard him 
hard at work some distance away. And just before supper 
time he came back to tell her that he had discovered a small 
patch of softer stuff, right above where the tunnel began, 
and, by means of two poles tied one on top of the other, 
had managed to bore another small hole to the outer air. 

“So we shall not smother, any way,” he announced 
cheerfully, and congratulated himself greatly on so vital 
though elementary an accomplishment. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 

T HE little flat cakes Sonia made, some of meal and 
some flour, were without doubt the most deli- 
cious Verney had ever tasted, and he said so in a 
way that showed he really meant it. 

Of course, in his case there were very special reasons 
why they should taste unusually good. He had worked 
like a conscientious navvy all afternoon, very much harder 
than he had ever seen any navvy of his acquaintance 
work, he was quite sure. And then — could any cakes in 
the world by any possibility taste as good to him as these 
that Sonia had made, with her own hands, of flour and 
meal and lard? 

She smiled a brief, and rather wan, little smile at his 
exuberance, and regretted that her materials had been so 
limited. 

The remaining member of the party had already surrep- 
titiously sampled them in the process of manufacture, to 
the extent of one whole cake, before he was discovered, 
and had, by a new light of almost human eagerness in his 
glassy eyes, and a ferocious gibbering of his pendulous 
wet mouth, given it as his opinion that hay and potato- 
peelings were not in the same basket with them. All 
through supper he grudged them every mouthful and pes- 
tered them with his anxieties lest he should be overlooked, 
and played to perfection the part of pet dog in a con- 
strained family party. In his little unconscious way he 
was a welcome relief against the underlying note of trag- 
edy. 

It was when they had finished supper, and Verney had 

207 


208 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


melted a basin of snow, in which Sonia had conscientiously 
washed the dishes, and he had lit a cigar — with the antici- 
patory deliberation attaching to the fact that it brought 
him within easily-computable distance of an attack on 
Herr Unger’s tobacco — and they were sitting before the 
fire for a few minutes before turning in, that Sonia asked, 
quietly enough, but with all the feeling of her brooding 
anxiety in her voice — 

“You do not think there is any possibility of Darya 
being. . . not having been . . . ” 

A sudden choke of emotion cut her short, but he under- 
stood, for that which had been troubling her mind had 
been much in his own also. 

“I do not think there is any possibility of hope,” and 
he saw the slim, white, intertwined fingers tighten con- 
vulsively, as though a last faint hope died at his words. 

“Poor girl!” he said quietly. “I’m afraid the most we 
can hope is that the end would be quick and that she would 
realise nothing of it all. She would most probably be 
unconscious and never wake. . . ” 

“Her last words keep coming back to me,” he said pres- 
ently. “They seem now prophetic, and they are, to me, 
somewhat comforting. When she caught sight of the hut, 
she said ‘Thank God! I am tired. I shall be glad of a 
rest.’ . . . And then the end came . . . and she 

is at rest . . . with God.” 

He spoke very softly, and under great emotion. Sonia’s 
breast heaved with suppressed sobs, and he knew her tears 
were falling. 

“It seems terribly sad to us,” he said again. “But . 
all her troubles are over . . . and, for myself, I 

have the strong belief that the next estate is better than 
this, and that for herself we need not grieve. . . . The 

loss is ours ... all the gain is hers . . . And 

we meet again ... I am sure of it. But I’m a ton- 


A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


209 


gue-tied man regarding anything. I feel very deeply. I 
don’t think I have ever said as much about it before . . . 
And I think I may say now what I dared not say before. 
Even if she had reached England safely, I doubt very 
much if there would have been any safety for her there, 
except in perpetual hiding ” 

“ I thought England was sanctuary for all the oppress- 
ed,” she said, glancing across at him, with troubled, shi- 
ning eyes. 

“Only for political offenders. Almost all the countries 
in the world are bound now by extradition treaties, you 
see, and the only offences outside them are purely politi- 
cal ones.” 

“So that if she had got there, and they had ever found 
it out, they could have brought her back here?” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

“What a horrible world it is !” she said, with a shiver. 

“It is a very hard world 1 when one offends its laws and 
prejudices.” 

“You don’t think she was wrong ” she began 

quickly, up in arms for Darya. 

“I am quite sure she did only whak she was driven to do. 
The horrible thing is that, with all our civilisation . 
and knowledge of the better things, it should have been 
possible for her to be so driven.” 

“Russia is not civilised, and has no knowledge of bet- 
ter things,” she said bitterly, and got up to go to her 
own room. 

“I do hope you will sleep well. It would 1 do you so much 
good,” he said earnestly, as he took her hand for a mo- 
ment, and looked so like bending and kissing it that she 
withdrew it hastily. 

She shook her head doubtfully, and went into the other 
room. 

Verney sat on before the fire, finishing his cigar and 


210 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


thinking of her. As his eyes followed his smoke upwards 
one time, they lighted on a small object hanging by a nail 
to one of the heavy beams of the roof, and he jumped up 
and triumphantly unhooked the tin-opener they had been 
searching for. 

He carried in from the shed enough hay for a comfort- 
able bed in the corner by the stove, and the kid immediately 
started supper afresh on it, and was forthwith banished 
to the shed. But he loved society and the stove, and 
complained so loudly that he had to be allowed in again, 
lest he should keep Sonia from sleeping. 

So, when he had replenished the fire, Verney tied him 
to the leg of the table, with rope enough to lie by the stove, 
and, laying one blanket on his hay, he wrapped himself 
in the other two, and was asleep the moment he put his 
head down. 

But it was to be a broken night for him. 

The kid, having by dint of importunity secured the 
stove, still craved society, and Verney’s first sound sleep 
was broken by his efforts to attain it. The little beast 
tugged at the table leg till it grated along the floor, and 
then cried so loudly that Verney sat up all dazed with 
sleep, under the impression that Sonia was in need and 
had called him. 

Whispered threat and menacing gesture alike made no 
impression on the obtuse one, whose embryonic intelligence 
or natural cunning had risen to the value of a voice that 
refused to be comforted till it got what it wanted, and in 
the end he had to be released, when he immediately pat- 
tered across to Vemey’s bed and dropped himself into it 
with a whimper of content. 

Verney pushed him into a corner and rolled himself up 
in his blankets and lay down again. 

But the full deep current of sleep had been broken for 
him, and he fell from one troubled dream to another, until 


A VOICE IN THE NIGHT 


211 

he found himself back on the narrow path again — and the 
whole mountain-side was rushing down upon them — and 
all his thought was for Sonia — and he cried, “Sonia ! 
Sonia !” and came to himself sitting up among his blankets, 
with the sound of his own cry still in his ears. 

And as he sat, still only half awake, he heard a voice 
in the next room, an intense urgent whisper — 

“Darya ! Darya ! I am coming, dear !” 

And the door opened, and Sonia came out into the dull 
glow of the fire, her eyes still misty with sleep, her hair 
all loosed, her hands groping forward, her face full of 
eager hope. 

He thought at first she was walking in her sleep, and 
rose quietly to prevent her coming to any harm. 

But she was not sleeping. 

“Did you not hear her?” she whispered vehemently. 
“Darya. She called to me,” and she clutched his arm 
with one hand, and held the other uplifted, listening. 

“No, dear! No!” he whispered back, and so absorbed 
was she that the involuntary endearment passed unno- 
ticed. 

“But yes ! I heard her distinctly. She called, ‘Sonia ! 
Sonia!’ I must go to her,” and she pushed past him to- 
wards the window. “She is down there, all alone in the 
cold, and she called me. I must go to her.” 

“Sonia,” he said firmly. “You must not. You can not. 
Believe me, there is only death out there. It was I you 
heard calling you.” 

“You?” she said, passing her hands wearily over her 
eyes and face, and gazing up at him in wonder. “Why?” 

“I’m afraid I was dreaming too. We were on the path 
again, and the mountain-side was coming down on us, and 
I cried ‘Sonia! Sonia!’ and woke up in the middle of it.” 

She sank forlornly into the chair by the fire, still gazing 


212 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


up at him with troubled, wistful eyes, as though to assure 
herself that he was not saying it simply to soothe her. 

And Verney thanked God with his whole heart that 
she was in the hands of a man who, by God’s grace, was 
strong enough to set duty first, and that that man was 
himself. 

She had only thrown off her jacket and her shoes, but 
the warm little shirts he had bought for her were open 
at the neck, showing her soft white throat, and her hair 
flowed about her like a cascade of burnished copper, and 
those great wistful eyes of hers might well have made a 
man lose his head, as he had already wholly lost his heart. 

He would have given much to have had the right to fall 
on his knees before her, and reassure and comfort her with 
tender words and hot loving kisses. 

But he had not that right — as yet, and he held himself 
with a firm hand. 

“You are quite sure?” she faltered, with still a lingering 
hope in it. 

“I am quite sure, and I am only sorry that I disturbed 
you so. It was very stupid of me.” 

“I was sure it was Darya — and oh, I was so glad, so 
glad !” she said wistfully, and sat gazing into the fire. 

“May I stop here?” she asked presently. “I could not 
sleep if I tried. But you — you are tired out. Please lie 
down again and go to sleep.” 

“I will sit up and keep you company.” 

“Then I will go ” and she got up from her chair. 

“Then I will obey orders,” and he rolled himself up once 
more in his blankets, and slept this time without further 
disturbance. 


CHAPTER XXII 


TRANSFORMATION 

S ONIA was up and doing long before Yerney woke. 
His bedfellow, the kid, watched her lazily from his 
nest in the hay for a time, and then erected himself 
and pattered after her in hopes of dainties. 

She had the coffee made, and more cakes, and the table 
spread with butter and honey and cheese, before the mo- 
tionless figure in the corner moved and yawned and sat up, 
and then jumped up with a spring. 

“I apologise,” he said cheerily. “I slept like a top, but 
I feel all the better for it. Too bad to have left all the 
work to you.” 

“It’s woman’s work,” she said, and he was glad to see 
no sign in her of the night’s upsetting. Her face was, as 
before, calm and shadowed, her manner very quiet and 
subdued. 

“I shall break through there in time,” and he nodded 
towards the window. “But it’s packed like a wall, and 
there’s an awful lot of it. Then we will hoist our flags. 
But we need not expect any very speedy response, I’m 
afraid. There cannot be much traffic along the valley at 
this time of year.” 

He toiled like a conscientious navvy all the morning, 
but the space was so confined that he could do not more 
than chip with his pick, and his left arm was still stiff from 
his wound, and the unaccustomed work tired him mortally, 
and so his progress was slower than he anticipated. 

More than once the kid reared himself up on his hind 
legs at the window and watched him solemnly for a time, 

213 


214 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


and then shook his head and relapsed, with waggling jaw, 
as though he said, “Well, well, these strange humans pass 
my comprehension,” and trotted away back to Sonia, and 
levied toll on her cooking operations whenever opportunity 
offered. 

Vemey was devoutly thankful when her voice inside 
summoned him to dinner, but when he climbed in through 
the window he got a surprise which nailed him agape to 
the spot where he had landed. 

He had left in the hut a sweet, sorrowful girl dressed in 
boy’s clothes, with her thick braids of copper-coloured 
hair coiled round her shapely little head like a coronet — 
to him the most bewitching little figure in the world, the 
touch of incongruity between the braided tresses and the 
rest of her but heightening all her charm. 

But now — the beautiful boy had vanished, and in his 
place there sat awaiting him at the table a still more beau- 
tiful girl, in what seemed to him the most wonderful cos- 
tume he had ever seen. He stood with wide surprised eyes, 
gazing at her as though she were a being from another 
world. 

But she explained it all in a word. 

“It is not that I did not like the other things,” she said, 
with a quick and delicate perception, lest it should appear 
to him that she had discarded them at the earliest oppor- 
tunity, now that the necessity was gone — and with them, 
perhaps, also something of the dependence and trust in him 
which they had betokened. 

“But — they reminded me so ” and her lips quivered 

again at thought of her loss. 

“Ah — h — h — h!” he breathed in a long sigh. “You 
are really real then ? At first sight I took you for a beau- 
tiful ghost. Where on earth did you get them from?” 

“I found them at the bottom of one of Herr Unger’s 


TRANSFORMATION 


215 


chests, carefully wrapped up in many papers. They must 
have been his daughter’s or his wife’s.” 

“It’s a lovely costume. And she must have been just 
your size” — at which the shadow of a smile lurked for an 
instant in the corners of her mouth. 

“One can always make things fit.” 

“It’s absolutely gorgeous,” he said, gazing with rapt 
eyes. 

And, truly, it was. For the skirt was of brown stuff 
trimmed all round the foot with black velvet, though he 
could not see much of it for a fine salmon-coloured apron 
with dark spots on it which covered it to within a couple 
of inches of the bottom. But the gorgeousness was up 
above, where a short black velvet corset clasped the slen- 
der waist and came down to a long point in front. And 
this was studded up each side with solid silver edelweisses, 
with silver chains linking across from one to another. 
Round her white neck was a broad black velvet collar, 
with more silver edelweisses, and more silver chains falling 
from it to her waist, and between the corset and the collar 
a soft white frilly garment puffed out coquettishly. Wide 
loose white sleeves, coming no lower than the elbow, com- 
pleted the costume, and with the coiled braids of hair com- 
ing close up to the forehead transformed her into a typi- 
cally beautiful Bernerin. 

“I must go and wash,” he said' abruptly, for the sight 
of her, so spick and span and beautiful, made him feel 
more like a navvy than ever, and his honest dirt became 
suddenly reproachful to him. 

“Can’t you find me one of the old fellow’s fete costumes 
too?” he asked, when he came back, still feeling hardly 
worthy to sit at the same table with her. 

“Why? You’re all right.” 

“I wish I felt so, but I’ve washed off all I could. It’s a 
tougher job out there than I thought. All the rubble 


216 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


seems to have fallen inwards as it came over the roof, and 
now it’s just a thick triangular wall of mud and stones, set 
as tight as if they’d been there for a century.” 

“I’m afraid you will hurt your arm and your foot, 
doing so much.” 

“They’re a bit in the way at times, but I’ll rest them 
when we’ve got those flags up.” 

And all through the meal, his mind was vaguely teasing 
itself as to whether it could possibly be a fact that her 
change of costume and restoration to feminine attire had 
wrought also some change in their relationship. And he 
called himself a fool, and argued with himself that if 
change there was it was wholly in himself — that it was 
simply her sudden dignity of attire that made him feel 
on a lower plane; for he enjoyed good clothing as much as 
any man, and knew the effect it had on one’s feelings, no 
matter what ill-clad philosophers might say to the con- 
trary. 

But, come how it might, he was certainly sensible of — 
perhaps one might better say, over-sensitive to — a some- 
thing different in her bearing, something so slight and sub- 
tle that the impressionable finger of his mind could not 
point to it with any feeling of conclusiveness — so elusive 
that he would not permit himself to believe that it was 
anything more than a figment of his own imagination. 

The sweet young face, in its clouding of sorrow, seemed 
to him more beautiful than ever. The dark blue eyes in 
their misty circles looked out at him with the same frank 
confidence as before. 

Did they? — quite? Or was there just a touch of reserve 
and withdrawal in them ? Had her resumption of the fem- 
inine aroused in her a sudden sense of the defensive? 

He could not make it out. What on earth had he done 
— except delve for her like a navvy — that she should creep 
back into her invisible shell by so much as a single thought ? 


TRANSFORMATION 


217 


It somehow recalled her to him, and even more strongly 
than before, as she was during those waiting days at Unter- 
hofen, when life was empty for lack of her, in spite of 
snowy mountains, and the shimmering lake, and all the 
radiant beauty of the world about him. 

What was it? What was it? Without for a moment 
admitting that there really was anything at all, his mind 
still chased futile explanations which vanished in the chas- 
ing and left no clue behind, while at the same time he did 
his best to permit no sign of what he felt to appear, and 
spurred himself to cheerful conversation and the assump- 
tion of an easy-mindedness which was not really his. 

He praised her cooking as gallantly as ever, and showed 
his appreciation in the one way that proved it beyond 
possibility of doubt. For navvies need sustenance even if 
their hearts are a trifle ill at ease, and he had been spend- 
ing himself without stint. 

He teased and played with the importunate kid, who 
proved unexpectedly useful as a bridger of conversational 
gaps. He spoke hopefully of his delving, and speculated 
on the possibilities of Herr Unger’s early return. In his 
unobtrusive way he exerted himself again to the utmost to 
keep her from brooding over her loss or the anomalies of 
their position. 

And she sat quietly, with shadowed face and this new, 
and, to him, perplexing little sense of aloofness and with- 
drawal about her, and ate and drank, with evidently no 
great appetite and only as a matter of duty. 

He wondered if she was going to be ill, and fervently 
hoped not, though, as he acknowledged to himself, it would, 
indeed, be little to be wondered at if her nerves gave way 
and prostrated her. Not many girls, he thought, would 
have come through so much without showing it more. But 
she was a girl apart, unique, not to be spoken of in the 
same breath with the ordinary run of girls, and his voca- 


218 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


tion had brought him into politely friendly relations, with 
the highest in many lands. 

“You have eaten nothing at all,” he said solicitously, 
one time. 

“I am not hungry.” 

“I’m afraid the limitations of the menu don’t tempt 
you.” 

“One never enjoys very much what one has cooked one- 
self, I think.” 

“I wish I could relieve you of that. I’ll do my best if 
you’ll tell me how to go about it.” 

“Oh, no,” she said hastily. “I did not mean that. I 
was only accounting for my want of appetite.” 

“Against my just imputations. But really — if you 
would allow me to ” 

“Not for a moment. It is just that I am not hungry. 
Perhaps the preparation of food in some way supplies 
the need of it. It was just the same, I remember, when 
we used to have cooking lessons from M. Joann ot. We 
enjoyed making the things, but never cared much about 
eating them afterwards.” 

“But for this visible proof to the contrary,” he said, 
nodding to the meal she had prepared, “one might be 
tempted to say that possibly there were reasons. I remem- 
ber the hideous messes we used to cook in the dormitory at 
school, and the gusto with which we ate them. It’s enough 
to make one ill even now just to think of it.” 

From that he rambled on, through his smoke, to remin- 
iscences of the stately old home in Warwickshire, where all 
the brothers and sisters used to meet for the holidays, and 
enjoyed the meetings all the more for the separations in 
between. He told her of his father, who was dead, and of 
his mother, but only of their kindliness and large-hearted- 
ness and altogether goodness. And of his sisters and 
brothers, one thing leading to another, but, in all, his one 


TRANSFORMATION 


219 


desire was to lead her away from herself and from the 
brooding thought which shadowed her. 

She listened quietly with just a word or a question now 
and again, which testified to her interest, and was in some 
sort an acknowledgment of his efforts on her behalf against 
the shadows. And all the time he was wondering, wonder- 
ing, what that little indefinable change in her was, and why ; 
and calling himself names for letting it trouble him. 

“Well, well, well!” he said at last, jumping up and 
straightening himself. “This is all very delightful, but it 
won’t buy a new hat for little Tommy.” 

She looked up at him with a pucker in her brow, and 
asked, in a puzzled voice, “Who is little Tommy, and why 
do you want to buy him a new hat?” 

“That was the formula,” he said with a laugh, “with 
which my old chum, Peyton Barry, used always to buckle 
to work again after a loafing spell. Tommy and the hat 
are purely mythical. They represent, in a colloquial way, 
the golden spur.” And all through the afternoon, as he 
picked away at the rough bank of debris in front, his 
thoughts dwelt on her, and he could find no reasonable 
answer to his questions. Except that it was woman’s privi- 
lege to indulge in whims and fancies. But truly Sonia did 
not strike him as likely to be given to that kind of thing. 
She had shown herself so bold, so open-minded, so clear- 
headed, so frank — in a word, so altogether different from 
the girl of whims and fancies, that it was impossible for him 
to associate her in his mind with such small things. 

Whatever it was — was the result of all his pondering 
and chipping — he was sure she had good reason for it. 
Things could not remain quite as they had been. The 
hearty companionship of the hills was bound to suffer 
check under conditions so different. So much had hap- 
pened. Everything was changed — except his feeling for 
her, and that, he said to himself, would never change. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


2 — 1=1 

S ONIA — swathed in a long white apron which she had 
made out of the remains of a sheet — excelled herself, 
as a cook, at supper that night. 

During the afternoon she discovered a patch of per- 
fectly clean snow in the tunnel, and so she made him some 
pancakes, which he declared were the most delicious things 
he had ever tasted in his life. And he had been working 
so hard, in hopes of breaking through the wall before 
night, that it was perfectly true. 

Fried potatoes, and grilled sardines, and meal cakes 
and pancakes, he pronounced a banquet fit for a king — if, 
by any unlikely chance, the king should have been working 
half as hard as he had. And his enthusiastic reception of 
her homely efforts so nearly evoked the momentary glim- 
mer of a smile on the sweet soberness of her face, that 
he would still have praised them even if the results had been 
very different. 

He was somewhat at odds with himself for the slow 
progress he was making in his own department. 

“Navvy work is harder than I thought,” he said, look- 
ing meditatively at the blistered palms of his hands. “I 
see I shall have to reconsider my idea of the Navvy Cure. 
It is undoubtedly healthy exercise, but it is also scarify- 
ing.” 

“You are doing too much, I’m afraid.” 

“Only what has to be done, but it’s a bit harder work 
than I expected. There’s such a lot of it, you see. And 
as soon as I get a block dislodged the stuff up above slides 

220 


221 


down and packs tight again. But I think I’ll get through 
all right to-morrow.” 

“Do you think there will be any chance of getting down 
that way into the valley?” she asked anxiously. 

“I doubt it, but we’ll see what it looks like when we can 
get our heads out. It must be two to three thousand feet 
down there, at least, and a risky business, I should say. 
We are quite safe here, and it’s only a question of waiting, 
and putting up with the inconveniences for a day or two 
longer. One false step on a slope like that might mean 
instant death, you see.” 

“We will wait where we are.” 

“That is the wise thing to do, without a doubt, if you 
can stand it for another day or two.” 

“It is a small thing. I have been standing things all my 
life.” 

He dearly wished that she would have told him of her- 
self as he had done of himself, but since that first necessary 
revelation in the boat on Lake Bienne, she had hardly said 
a word, and his own frank confidences had evoked no re- 
sponse beyond an interested hearing. 

“If I’d been a girl, now, she would have told me all about 
herself from the day she was born,” he said to himself. 

But, on the whole, he very much preferred things as 
they were, and the magic of her actual presence more than 
compensated for any lack of spontaneity in the matter of 
self-revelation. Besides, he was quite conscious of the 
fact that his own effusiveness in this respect had been dic- 
tated simply by the desire to interest and amuse her, and 
take her thoughts off herself and her terrible loss. 

He had a sound night’s sleep that night, with no more 
disturbance than was occasioned by the kid’s untiring ef- 
forts to secure for himself the most comfortable spots in 
their hay bed 1 , and no more discomfort than was inevitable 
from such close quarters with a somewhat odoriferous and 


222 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


exceeding self-willed little Billy? who knew just what he 
wanted, and threatened to keep the whole house awake 
unless he got it. 

Verney was up and doing, and had the stove roaring in 
full blast, and snow ready boiling for the coffee, before 
Sonia came out of her room. 

“I’m afraid you have not slept very well,” he said anx- 
iously, at sight of her face, dead white above the dead 
black of the velvet collar which showed above her apron, 
and the darker circles round her eyes. 

“Not very well,” she admitted, and busied herself at 
once with preparations for breakfast. 

He felt painfully certain in his own mind that she was 
but a very little way from a breakdown, unless some change 
came in their circumstances. And whether the piercing of 
the outer wall above the valley would improve matters for 
them, he could not say until he saw how things looked out- 
side. 

But sooner than have her fall ill, all alone there in the 
hut, he was prepared to take risks and dare much. 

It might be, he tried to reassure himself, that it was 
just the confined atmosphere that was telling on her, and 
that an accession of fresh air would act like a tonic and 
bring back her old self. And it might still more likely be 
that in this tiny place, with its narrow routine of homely 
duties, her heart and mind had so little on which to occupy 
themselves that brooding on her loss was inevitable, in 
spite of all his efforts. 

If that was so, and he, by a word or two, could give 
them healthier food for reflection, was it not good for 
her — was it not his bounden duty — to cast aside the small 
trammels of custom, and tell her all that was in his heart 
concerning her, and heal her loss by the knowledge of a 
greater gain? 

Perhaps — and his heart thumped double-quick time at 


2 — 1=1 


the thought — perhaps, by some unique womanly sense, she 
had already divined what was in him, in spite of all his 
disguisements, and was wondering and hurt at his reticence. 
And he glanced furtively at the calm pale face, and won- 
dered if he dared. 

If he told her he loved her, and she confessed to a like 
feeling for him, it would make things so very much easier 
for her all round. 

But supposing — yes, supposing he was wrong, and her 
heart was already given elsewhere! — well, then, undoubt- 
edly his speaking would only make things still more uncom- 
fortable both for her and for himself. 

And besides, his chivalric sense of what was due to her, 
under the strange circumstances in which they found them- 
selves, held him back with a strong hand. 

It would seem, to himself at all events, like taking a mean 
advantage of her. She had graciously accepted his prof- 
fered help in her own extremity — and here she was, cast, in 
unimaginable ways, absolutely on his care and honour — 
she was bowed and broken with her loss, and her heart was 
sore and heavy. 

Could he — how could he — in simple honesty, corner her 
in that way, and, as it were, demand her love? 

And how could she, under all the circumstances of the 
case, feel herself quite free to say him nay? 

It was the quietest meal they had had. Even the kid’s 
importunities were satisfied perfunctorily, and with 
scarce a remark. But Verney’s heart was over-full, and 
hers was over-heavy, and commonplace cheerfulness seemed 
for once uncommonly out of place. 

He would not let her provisioning pass, however, with- 
out his usual warm commendation, but he got up, as soon 
as he had finished, and said quietly, “I believe you are suf- 
fering from lack of fresh air. I shall get through there 
inside a couple of hours, I should think, and then we’ll be 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


224 

able to see how the land lies outside. If it seems at all pos- 
sible, would you sooner risk trying to get down into the 
valley, or wait here till old Unger comes? With those 
ropes in the shed we might be able to manage it. I can’t 
say till I see what it’s like. What do you say?” 

“Please don’t take any risks on my account,” she said 
quietly. “I am quite content to wait here — or to do just 
what you think best.” 

“Well, I’ll break through, and then we can see what 
the chances are,” and he climbed out through the window, 
and she heard the pick chipping away at the rubble, as she 
washed up the dishes, and turned her thoughts towards the 
next meal. It was well on into the morning, and the pick 
had jabbed and raked ceaselessly, when a glad cry came to 
her on a sudden delicious breath of cold clean air. 

“Come and see !” cried Verney, and she went hastily to 
the window and climbed through into a blinding gush of 
light, which streamed in down the rough cutting he had 
hacked in the rubble. 

He was standing at the open end, peering out over a 
breast-high parapet, which he had not yet had time to 
clear away. 

As he heard her coming he drew back to give her room. 

Then, with no more warning than a sickening quiver, 
the whole mass on which they stood crumbled under their 
feet in treacherous ruin ; Verney ’s arm swept her violently 
backward, so violently that she staggered and fell — and as 
she fell her horrified eyes saws him disappear bodily. And 
then, with a dreadful, grating roar, the snow and rubble 
came sliding down over the roof again, tumbling past the 
mouth of the cutting in a grim cascade of earth and snow 
and flying stones, and blotting out everything but itself. 

“Verney! Verney!” she gasped, in a voice that might 
have told him tales had he heard it. 

But he was gone and she was alone. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


sonia’s despair 

S ONIA pressed her hands tightly over her eyes and face, 
as though to crush out all remembrance of what she 
had seen. 

But she knew that, as long as life lasted, she would 
never forget that last sight of Verney reeling helplessly 
down amid the disintegrating fragments of the treacher- 
ous ledge. 

And his only thought had been for her ! If he had not 
swept her back like that she must have gone too. 

And better if she had ! she thought bitterly. 

Oh, why had he saved her? What good was she to any 
one? What use was life to her? Truly it seemed as 
though she brought only death to all who were dear to her. 

Better far that they had gone together, and ended it 
all — he and she and Darya — all together in death as they 
had been in life — fit ending that for this most luckless ad- 
venture. 

She was lying so close to the ragged edge of the ledge 
that earth and stones fell in upon her, and for some min- 
utes she did not dare to move. But the dull rush and 
grind of the snow and rubble over the roof ceased at last, 
and she was thankful, for the continuous hideous growl of 
it was like a long-drawn curse. It gave her acute physical 
pain, and made her brain reel. 

The sun shone cheerfully through the gap again, and 
she braced herself to crawl forward on her knees, testing 
every inch with the weight of her body on her hands in 

225 


226 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


front, till she could peer down through the opening onto 
the tumbled slope below. 

He might be alive — and her anxious eyes swept eagerly 
over the long white slope, furrowed and disfigured with this 
new fall, and dotted here and there with darker spots, any 
one of which might be a body. 

He was almost certainly dead — and she almost feared to 
look. 

More than once she was sure one or other of the dark 
spots moved. And that was likely enough, as the tumbled 
masses of brown earth settled down into position amid the 
snow. But they moved no more ; and all her anxious peer- 
ing discovered nothing that gave her slightest ground for 
hope. 

Any one of those darker spots might be his body, but 
she knelt for an hour straining her eyes, grown accustomed 
to the twilight of the hut, upon the dazzling slope of snow 
• — dashing the water from them impatiently lest the lapse 
of a second should let slip a chance; jerking her head, 
with a strange wild motion to this side or that, at times, as 
the corner of her eye suggested a movement down below — 
gradually growing more hopeless. 

Far below her lay the long stretch of the valley, silent 
as death. Across it, on the opposite slope, the serried lines 
of pines and larches stood sombrely amid the snow, like 
giant funeral plumes. And up in the clear blue sky the 
white sun shone as gaily as though no such thing as death 
existed. 

But the white-faced girl who knelt in that ragged black 
hole in the side of the hill — with pinched brows, and eyes 
that looked as if they had suffered from blows, and little 
hands blue with cold — saw nothing but the tumbled slope 
below her, and it seemed to her like her own broken life 
and hopes. 

It was the pain in her hands — the cold and her weight 


SONIA’S DESPAIR 


227 


on them — that made her draw back at last, and she sat 
back on her heels with a long hopeless breath. 

She could not see a sign of him. He might be lying 
somewhere down there, stunned with his fall — only needing 
timely assistance to recover. He might be so broken that 
he could not move — conscious still, and with all his senses 
alive to the slow sure death that night would bring. 

If she could only get down and search among the wreck- 
age, and make quite sure that those darker spots were only 
stone or earth! 

If she found him — well! If not — still well! For she 
could but die — on the slope where he had died, and so a 
clean end to the whole matter. 

She got up slowly, for all her joints were stiffened with 
her vigil, and climbed in through the window and stood for 
a moment, while the kid came dancing joyfully about her, 
and told her how frightened he had been and how glad he 
was to see her back. 

Then she went hastily to her room, flung off her gay 
robes, and, with trembling hands, donned her boy’s clothes 
again. Partly, because there was in her dazed mind a dim 
idea that, if Death and Darya and Verney lay waiting out 
there on the slope for her, it was but meet that she should 
come to them in the garb they had known one another best 
in. And partly, perhaps, because those other things be- 
longed to Herr Unger, and she had no right to waste them. 
And partly, without doubt, because they got in her way 
and were not at all adapted to the business she had in hand. 

Then she ran to the shed, and hauled down the long coil 
of rope that Verney had hung on a stout wooden peg there, 
and dragged it through the room and through the window, 
Billy the kid dancing close attendance, and looking on the 
whole matter as a new and interesting game of romps. 

She stood for a moment considering how best to secure 
the inner end of the rope. She looked at the table legs and 


228 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


then, with sudden inspiration, went back to the shed and 
brought out three stout pine-poles. She bound the end of 
the rope round the middle of those as tightly as she could, 
and then hauled the rest along to the gap and flung it down 
the slope. The pine-poles braced themselves against the 
inside of the window, and when she pulled with all her 
strength they yielded not so much as an inch. 

So far good, and her way was clear. 

But when she crept to the mouth of the ragged hole and 
looked out, with full intent to let herself down by the rope, 
the sight made her head swim. 

As far as she could make out, the rope fell straight for 
some fifty feet before it touched the snow, then it snaked 
away down for another hundred and fifty feet or so over 
the tumbled snow and rubble of the fall. But its whole 
length was but a span on the long sweep of the slope. 

And as she lay peering down, she became suddenly con- 
scious of the very strange fact that the merry sun above 
her head was dancing in a way she had never seen him do 
before, the rope and the snow-slope began swaying like a 
ship in a heavy sea, everything inside her head joined in 
the romp and began going round and round, slowly, slowly 
— quicker, quicker. She had just sense enough left to 
know that she was going to faint — and so to wriggle back 
a foot or two from the opening, and then beneficent Na- 
ture intervened and saved her from certain death. 

When she came to herself the sun had danced himself 
almost round the corner. He no longer shone into the gap 
but athwart it. 

She felt sick and weak, and cold, and cowed, and broken. 
Verney might be lying down there, needing only a helping 
hand for his salvation. But she could not go to his help. 
If he was dead she could join him, but alive she knew she 
could not. If she set her hand to that rope to go over the 


SONIA’S DESPAIR 


229 


brink she would go headlong, and she had the sense to 
know it. 

She might, and did, call herself coward, poltroon, 
weakling. But go down that rope alive she knew she could 
not. 

She sat up and shivered. She wept weak tears. Then, 
without daring to look out again, she crept back to the 
window and squeezed in below the pine-poles. She stag- 
gered to her bed and fell on it, void of hope or care or 
feeling, careless alike of life or death, wishful only for rest 
and a quick and quiet ending. 


CHAPTER XXV 


PURGATORY 

V ERNEY’S first thought, when he felt the ledge giv- 
ing way beneath him, was, as we know, for Sonia. 
He swept her back into safety with his arm, and 
then tried to clutch at anything that might save him from 
falling. 

But the first snow slide, which had entombed them, as 
it fell off the roof had banked up on the pathway and then 
projected gradually beyond it, forming an overhanging 
cornice, which had all hung together until his mining oper- 
ations loosened the texture of the whole. This accounted 
for the amount of stuff he had had to pick through, and 
for the weakness of his platform as soon as he had got out 
beyond solid earth. 

And so, as he went down, his arms, clutching wildly for 
something stable to hold on to, lighted on nothing but 
masses of falling snow and rubble, and he went down with 
them. His first bump was into snow which had fallen 
from the cornice, and 1 was comparatively a soft one. But 
the fall had been a long one and the slope was sharp. Be- 
fore he had recovered from his surprise at being still alive, 
he found himself bounding through the air like a football. 
Instinctively he took a long breath and wondered, in a 
grotesque flash, what the next bump would be like. 

Snow again, providentially — snow slightly hardened on 
top by the action of sun and frost, but not yet turned to 
ice. His body dented 1 it, and all the wind was knocked out 
of him. 


230 


PURGATORY 


Then he was flying through the air again, bruised some- 
what and breathless, and with an intense desire towards 
hysterical laughter, which he knew he must check or he 
could not hold in his breath for the next bump. 

He also remembered, afterwards, wondering what 
length of leap he was taking. Something tremendous, he 
was sure, for the time between each bump seemed so long 
that a thousand scenes out of the past flashed through his 
brain like the whirl of a mad cinematograph. 

But the cinematograph shut off suddenly at the next 
bump. Rocks and stones from above had been whirling 
down alongside him, and it was probably one of these that 
caught him on the head as he fell that time, for all the 
following leaps were taken without sense or knowledge. 

Even the final smash against a huge outcropping boul- 
der, fortunately coated with snow, was unfelt by him. 

When he recovered his senses he found himself deep in 
a snow drift which rose a good ten feet above his head, and 
he lay there looking up, through the hole he had made, at 
the blue sky above, and wondering in a dazed way, how- 
ever he came to be there. 

But as his wits got slowly to work again, he remem- 
bered bit by bit, and presently he was feeling gingerly 
over his limbs for damages. Right arm? — he could stretch 
it out by degrees, though it felt as if it had been through 
a mangle. Left arm? — the same, only very sore about the 
cut, which he thought had probably burst open again. 

But what was this ? His sight went suddenly all red and 
misty. Blood pumping out from a huge gash in the fore- 
head — snow all red below him. He remembered reading, 
somewhere or other, of some Alpine climber who had under- 
gone just such an experience as this. And he had plaster- 
ed his wound with snow. So — a handful clamped on to 
the cut, and the bleeding lessened, and the cold was grate- 
ful to his throbbing head. 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


232 


Left leg? — seemingly all right, as far as bones went, 
but very sore at the ankle. Right leg? — all right, for 
he was standing up now and nothing seemed to give. 

It was marvellous ; more — providential ! Standing 
there in his hole, buried in the snow, his hand went over his 
eyes as it would in church, and he thanked God from the 
bottom of his heart for this second gift of life when death 
had seemed his certain portion. 

And now to get out, and see what the prospects were 
of getting back, for Sonia must be in a dreadful state up 
there — all alone, and left alone in so startling a fashion. 

It was no easy matter, however, to compass the first step 
towards getting out of the drift, for the under snow was 
soft enough to break loosely under him wherever he tried 
to climb. 

But his wallowings and plunging brought him in time to 
the side of the great boulder from which he had rebounded 
in his fall, and he climbed cautiously up its rough side until 
he was above the drift and could look about him. 

His first anxious look was up at the gap out of which 
he had come, and there was no difficulty in locating it. 
He could trace the path by the hanging cornice, and there, 
in the middle of the huge slice that had fallen away, was the 
ragged black hole up to which he must climb in order to 
get back to Sonia. 

He reckoned it at four hundred or five hundred feet, 
and scanned the sir ,c between with anxious eyes ; for com- 
ing down had lx one thing, but going up would be a 
very different 1 mess. And, though he believed none of 
his bones we^ broken, he was very sorely bruised, and 
from the st of his burrow in the drift he must have lost 
much bio* 

He let aself cautiously down the bare side of his rock 
and started to crawl up the slope. 


PURGATORY 


233 


For a long distance it was a very purgatory of a crawl, 
and he thought vaguely of holy men in the far east, whom 
he had seen crawling like this on pilgrimages to distant 
shrines. 

His shrine was up there in that ragged black gap, and 
inside it was his goddess, and the thought of her spurred 
him on over all the blind, insensate difficulties of the way. 

A very purgatory of a crawl! His hands were raw yet 
from their first day’s work of tunnelling to the hut. In 
places he had to scrape foot-holds with them in the frozen 
surface of the snow, and very soon each little ledge was 
stained with his blood. 

The sunshine beat up into his face off the snow with a 
blinding glare that made his head reel at times. And then 
he clapped handfuls of snow on it to cool it, and took an 
occasional mouthful to slake his parched throat. 

And once he slipped, and rolled down a score of yards 
before his bleeding hands could anchor him again. But 
the red ledges were still there, and he remounted them with 
extra caution. 

When next he slipped, he sat down before re-starting, 
and managed with difficulty to get off his one soddened 
boot and stocking, and put them on again with the stock- 
ing outside to give him better foothold. The sprained 
foot had only a stocking on to begin with, but that foot 
was very painful and more of a hindrance than a help. 

It was terribly hard work; and at times he lay flat for 
a spell to pant himself into shape again. But he was 
determined to get there, though it wore his fingers to rags 
and left him only bones where fingers ought to be. For 
Sonia was up there alone, and she must be suffering agonies. 

So on he went, doggedly defiant of pain and wounds, 
till at last he came on the fallen snow and earth of that 
day’s slide, and then it was somewhat easier going. 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


234 

How he would ever be able to mount the broken cornice 
he had not jet had time to decide. When he got near 
would be time enough for that. 

It took him hours to conquer the first two hundred feet, 
and the sun was well round to his left before he reached the 
new-fallen snow. Presently it would be behind the moun- 
tains, and he would be in the shade. It would be very cold 
then, and if he did not manage to get up into that black 
hole before night he would most certainly be dead before 
morning. 

And as he sat, with that in his mind, and yet rested per- 
force because he felt so spent, his eye lighted suddenly on 
a thin yellow line which seemed to issue from the black 
hole above and run down towards him. 

He sat up eagerly and gazed intently. Could it be a 
rope? It looked uncommonly like it. And if it was, his 
greatest difficulty of the cornice was as good as solved. 

He turned and crawled on with new hope, and before 
long he came on the end of the rope. With a gasp of joy 
he gripped it, and kissed it as if it had been Sonia herself. 

Clever girl! Wonderful girl! If, now, she had only 
fixed it properly up above, so that it would bear his weight ! 

He tried it and it stood. He hauled himself along by it, 
and that last hundred and fifty feet was child’s play com- 
pared with what had gone before. 

And so, at last, he stood under the cornice, with not 
more than another fifty feet between him and heaven. And 
the sun had gone round the corner, and the wind whistled 
coldly through him as he stood there, panting, and drip- 
ping with perspiration. 

If the drop from the ledge had been sheer from an 
overhanging cornice, as it had seemed to Sonia, who had 
not dared to put her head right outside, he doubted if he 
could have managed it. But the rope hung down the fur- 
rowed side of the fall, and it was simply a question of haul- 


PURGATORY 


235 


ing himself up like a cliff climber, with his feet pacing up 
the perpendicular wall. 

The last three feet or so, where the rope lay tight into 
the broken ledge, were the worst, and once he hung panting 
at right angles to the slope, and doubted if he would be 
able to manage it. 

But he worked himself up, inch by inch, until he could 
grip the rope above the ledge, and then he was all right. 

He drew himself in with a fervent “Thank God!” and 
fell senseless in the cutting. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


HEARTS INSURGENT 

S ONIA had lain on her bed, spent and broken, without 
a hope of ever seeing Verney again. 

But after lying so for a long blank time, she burst 
suddenly into most violent weeping. 

“Oh, better so ! Better so ! Better so !” she sobbed, and 
continued so to sob, as though in words so hopeless she 
found some anodyne for her wounded spirit. 

How long she had lain in that gray twilight of the soul, 
without a single hope for the future, and too bruised and 
broken even to regret the past, she did not know. She had 
no slightest desire ever to rise again. If she could just lie 
there and let the broken threads slip quietly out of her 
hands, she would ask nothing more. 

Life had been, of late years, one long perplexing prob- 
lem. She had, according to her lights, and to the very 
best of her powers, and with no thought for herself, been 
fighting forces that had proved too strong for her. She 
was beaten and broken. She had no wish to live. 

Her mind wandered back to the early days, when she 
and Darya and Louis played on the shores of the Sound 
near Viborg, and were happy as the day was long. They 
were all very close in years, but she had always been the 
leader, and many a wild dance she had led them, and into 
many a scrape which drove even their level-headed English 
governess to distraction. 

Then, before they knew it, Darya had grown up into a 
beauty, and Governor Pesthel came into their lives, for 

236 


HEARTS INSURGENT 


237 


their shadowing and breaking. And since then — just one 
long fight with circumstances that were always too strong 
for her. 

And then, as though to revive her broken faith in man- 
kind before the curtain fell, Verney had come into her life 
like a bright shaft of sunlight on a wintry day, and she 
knew that his heart had gone out to her, and that it was a 
heart of gold and worth the best that any woman could 
give. 

And she? Ah, she would have asked no more of life — 
if only things had been different. 

And he was lying dead out there in the snow on that 
dreadful slope — with Darya. And it was all her doing. 

“Better so ! Better so !” she moaned, and wished she 
had had the courage to fling herself out and join them in 
their long white sleep under the snow. “Better so! Bet- 
ter so !” 

The little room had grown almost dark. She lay in the 
chill misery of absolute abandon. The stove had burned 
down to a handful of red embers, and the cold mountain 
wind swept in through the gap and the open window and 
whuffled up the hole in the roof of the shed. 

It set the window in the other room creaking — creak — 
creak — creak — as though the spirit of Death, which 
crouched out there on the mountain-side, were trying to 
get through. 

And she would welcome him — ah, how gladly she would 
welcome him! He would just touch her with his icy finger 
and all her troubles would be over, and she would meet 
them all again — her mother and father — and Darya — and 
Verney. Verney seemed to have no doubt about it and 
there was wondrous comfort in the thought. 

Creak — creak — creak — went the window in the other 
“Death is coming! He is crawling up the rope,” 


room. 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


she whispered to herself. “Come, Death! Sweet Death! 
Oh, come quickly!” 

The kid came whirling into her room and pranced about, 
all abristle with fear. He did not like that creaking. 

She called him softly, and he pattered to the bedside 
and stood up on his hind legs and poked his head at her. 

Then the window frame gave one culminating creak, and 
the pine-poles fell with a clatter which jerked Sonia into 
a sitting posture on her bed. 

It was all very well for Death to come, but why should 
he come so noisily? 

And as she sat there, startled and trembling, she heard 
the fall of a heavy body outside the window, and her strain- 
ing ears caught the gasp with which Verney came back 
from death to life. She jumped off the bed, and ran 
trembling to the window, and saw him lying there in the 
gap, apparently lifeless. 

Her wits were all ajee. He was dead. But in some 
miraculous fashion his body had been brought back to 
her. How, she did not know. But there it was, and that 
was enough. 

She scrambled through the window and fell on her knees 
beside him, crying, “Oh, my dear love! Are you dead? 
Are you dead?” and she kissed him, and sobbed over him, 
and stroked his wet hair, and called to him, “Verney! 
Verney ! . . . Oh, my dear one ! My dear one !” — as 

though the voice of love could call death back to life. 

And to Verney, struggling back through whirling black 
brain-clouds, it was like heaven to hear her heart’s clear 
speaking, and to feel her hot kisses and the soft touch of 
her hands. 

He opened his eyes and lay looking up at her, and she 
drew back amazed, and all the fire went out of her face and 
left it stony cold. 


HEARTS INSURGENT 


239 


“I thought you were dead,” she gasped, and drew still 
further from him as he struggled up on his elbow. 

“I was, nearly ... I should have been but for 
you. . . . Your rope got me here. Your kisses 

brought me back to life . . . Dearest, you give me my 

heart’s desire ” 

“Oh, don’t ! Don’t !” she whispered vehemently, and hid 
her face in her hands, and crushed herself back against 
the rough wall of the cutting. 

“Why . . . Sonia, dearest! . . . You are not 

sorry that I know . . . ” He was sitting up now. He 

tried to draw her hands down from her face. “Dear, I 
have loved you with my whole heart ever since that very 
first day . . .” 

“Oh, don’t! Don’t! ... I thought you were 
dead.” 

“But I’m very much better alive than dead, dear. A 
dead man cannot love, though he might have given his life 
for his love.” 

“Oh, I thought you were dead,” she moaned 1 . “How shall 
I tell you? How shall I tell you? You will hate me ” 

“Never! You have told me, and I will love you every 
day of my life.” 

“Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu!” she groaned, bowing her head 
almost to the ground in her grief and misery. “How can 
I tell him and lose his love?” 

Then suddenly she flung her hands from her eyes with 
a strange wild gesture. 

“Tenezl” she said fiercely, with the spirit of one bent 
on probing utmost depths and having done with it. “Lis- 
ten! I love you, Yerney, with my whole heart and soul. 
I could not help it. I cannot help it. I love you. And — 
and” — her hands clasped up again in uttermost anguish — 
“I am married.” 

Yerney gazed at her anxiously. He feared the strain 


240 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


had been too much for her. “Don’t look at me like that !” 
she cried. “I am not mad. It is true. It is true,” and then 
her head sank down again and the slim bowed figure shook 
with sobs. 

“Is it so, dearest?” he said gently, and if she could have 
seen how ghastly his face was, under its coating of blood 
and dirt, she would have shrieked aloud. “Then you will 
forgive me. I never dreamed of it.” 

“Forgive you? Forgive you?” she moaned. “Oh!” and 
all she would have said trailed off into a broken wail. 

“Come inside,” he said gently, “And when you will 
you shall tell me about it. You have suffered, I am sure. 
Come !” 

He helped her through the window, and she sank in a 
forlorn and shivering little heap by the almost dtad stove. 

He went into the shed and came back with his arms full 
of pine chips, and crammed the stove as full as it would 
hold. Then to the window, noted her pine-pole anchor and 
lifted it outside, drew the shutters to, and made all snug, 
and when he turned he found the smoke welling in from 
the shed, and saw that in some way his original vent-hole 
had got stopped up. 

So, weary as he was, and with raw and bleeding hands, 
he had to set to work re-opening his chimney, or the house 
would not be habitable. Fortunately, the last slide had 
only filled up the vent, not deepened their covering, and a 
quarter of an hour’s thrusting set matters right again. 

Then he went into the tunnel and got clean snow and set 
it to melt, got out the coffee-pot and some eatables, and 
then, with the wisdom of his great love, he said to her, 
“Sonia, dear, we are both starving. Will you help me? 
We want some cakes and potatoes.” 

And she got up slowly, her face all warped and swollen, 
and her eyes cast down and fearful of meeting his, and 
began with trembling hands to prepare their meal. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


TILL DEATH 

W HILE Sonia was getting supper ready, Vemey got 
a basin of snow-water, and, as well as he was 
able, got rid of some of the more visible signs of 
his encounter with the snow slope. 

His head was badly gashed just above the forehead, 
and he bandaged it as well as he could. His torn fingers 
gave him excruciating pain each time he used them, for 
there was hardly any skin left on them, and the flesh itself 
was badly ragged. 

He found, as he expected, that the wound in his arm had 
opened again, and over and above all these things and the 
disability of his sprained foot, he felt as though a steam- 
roller had gone over him and every inch of his body was 
sore. 

Still, the marvel — the marvel of marvels — was that he 
was there at all, and not lying, a heap of broken bones 
and bruised flesh, at the bottom of the slope. 

But, behind all the bodily aches and pains, was the still 
vaster dull aching at his heart, which beat with slow heavy 
thumps like the drum at a funeral march — beat as though 
determined to do its duty, since that was expected of it, 
but with nothing but sorrow in the doing. But, for the 
time being, heart and brain alike were somewhat numbed 
by the blow. 

When he had stood below the cornice, outside there, 
he had said to himself that heaven was just up above, and 
the thought of Sonia had braced him to the final exertion 
and carried him up safely. 

When he feared he had lost her he had found her again 

241 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


— had doubly found her — as she was, and as he had dared 
to hope she some time might be — and then, in the very 
moment of finding her, he had lost her more hopelessly 
than ever. 

And he loved her more than ever. And she loved him. 
But between them was a wall of partition, high as heaven, 
deep as death. And, she on her side, and he on his, they 
two must live their lives apart till Death. Ah! — his sick 
heart beat the words into the dull rhythm of its funeral 
march: “Till Death — till Death — till Death ” 

Till Death should — what? 

For Death sunders — and joins. Death might part 
them forever in this world. And Death might level the 
insuperable wall and join them still. 

That some further sad story lay behind it all he felt 
sure, in a dull dazed way — as surely as he knew that 
Sonia’s heart was all pure gold, and that what she had 
done she had done perforce. 

And as he pondered the matter heavily, while clumsily 
trying to bind up his wounds, he came to a dim perception 
of what the force that had driven her to such extremity 
might be. 

His ragged fingers made so poor a job of the bandaging 
that at last he went back into the room to ask her help. 

“Will you tie this up for me, Sonia?” he asked. “My 
fingers are good for nothing,” and he held out his left arm 
to her. 

She took the bandage and pad and tied them on neatly 
and firmly, though her fingers shook so that they could 
hardly manage the knots, and her eyes never lifted from 
her work. Then she took off the clumsy bandage on his 
head, and shuddered pitifully at the long raw gash. 

“It ought to be strapped or stitched,” she said anxious- 
ly. “But I have nothing ” 

“By Jove!” he said, almost exuberantly. “There’s 


TILL DEATH 


243 


the roll of plaster I got at Adelboden, in my riicksac . I’d 
forgotten all about it,” and she had the roll out of the 
riicksac before he had finished speaking. 

When she had strapped his wound she went quickly into 
the other room, and he heard the creak of a box lid. She 
came back in a moment, saying quietly, as she bent over 
her cooking again — 

“You are soaked through. There are some things of 
Herr Unger’s in there. You would do well to change,” 
and he jumped at the chance, for the overheat of his climb- 
ing was running down into chill discomfort. 

“That was good of you,” he said, when he came in, 
dressed in the old man’s gala costume, and carrying his 
own rags in a bundle. “I feel warm again and ever so 
much better. And I’m terribly hungry.” 

She turned to the frying-pan on the fire, and heaped his 
plate with frizzling brown slices of potato and tiny cakes 
fried with them, pushed a newly opened tin of sardines 
across to him, and poured out a cup of coffee. 

“And you?” he asked. 

But she shook her head. “I could not.” 

“Please try. I’m sure you are needing it as much as I 
am. And take some coffee. We’ll have some Kirsch in it. 
It’s been a wasteful time for both of us. It was hard on 
you to be deserted like that.” 

She choked over a scrap of cake she had made pre- 
tence of eating in order to satisfy him, and he saw that 
tears were running down her face. 

Something odd and clumsy in the use of his hands drew 
her eyes to them, and she gave a gasping breath of pity 
and dismay. 

“Oh — your hands!” and her own clasped sympathetic- 
ally. 

“They’re pretty bad,” he said, as cheerfully as he could 
manage it, as he slipped them under the table. “It was 


244 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


scraping foot-holes in the slope out there that did it. 
Please don’t look at them.” 

But she jumped up and went into her room again, and 
came back with strips of soft linen, with which she insisted 
on tying up each of his fingers separately, after anoint- 
ing them with softened lard. 

“That is very comforting and I am very grateful,” he 
said. “I’m afraid my hands will have to be out of action 
for a day or two. It’s a good thing there are no more 
tunnels to dig. Do try and eat something, please!” 

What she ate would not have satisfied the kid, even as 
a sample of the good things up above. He reared himself 
up with his forefeet on the table, and watched them glass- 
ily, and gibbered whenever he was forgotten. 

But even the little she forced herself to swallow, though 
it came near to choking her, was all to the good, and the 
coffee and Kirsch were warming and stimulating. 

She would not let him move a finger when he had fin- 
ished. She found him a cigar, cut it for him, and held a 
burning splinter while he lit it. Then she got her own 
snow-water and washed the dishes, and dreaded the mo- 
ment when she could make no more work to do. 

But that had to come, and so she braced herself to it, 
and' came at last and sat down quietly on the floor by the 
open door of the stove. 

“That good thought of yours about the rope saved my 
life, Sonia,” he said, in a voice full of deepest feeling. 
“But for it I should be lying out there on the slope. I 
could never have got up without it, and the night would 
have finished me.” 

“I thought to go down after you, but . . . when it 

came to the point, my courage failed and I found myself a 
coward.” 

“You did well not to go. I doubt if you could have 


TILL DEATH 


245 


got back, and you could not have helped me more than 
you did.” 

“You saved my life, too, when the ledge gave way. 
Oh, I shall never forget it,” and she pressed her hands to 
her eyes again. “It was terrible to see you going down 
like that.” 

“I can’t be thankful enough that I wasn’t smashed to 
bits. And I can’t understand how I’m alive and whole. I 
went bumping down like a football, and some of the leaps 
must have been fifty or sixty feet. Then I came against a 
snow-covered boulder and fell into a drift, and then I 
crawled back up the slope, wondering, as well as I could 
wonder, however I was to get back into the hole.” 

“I gave you up for dead. Oh,” she sobbed, “I thought 
you were dead,” and he knew that she was thinking again 
of the baring of her heart when she came upon him in the 
gap and believed him dead. 

“I thank God with all my heart that He has spared 
me to be of use to you still,” he said fervently. 

“Try not to hate me — despise me — loathe me,” she said, 
with a despairing little gesture. 

“Sonia !” 

“Ah — you might well,” she sobbed, “and 1 could not 
bear it.” 

“Dear,” he said gently. “You know all that is in my 
heart towards you, I think. That is beyond my power to 
alter now. Do you care to tell me the whole matter? — Not 
if it hurts you,” he added quickly. 

“Yes, I will tell you, and you will not judge me too 
harshly.” 

“I could not. I love you.” 

“I had no thought at all of this, when — when it began, 
when you offered me your help, that day at St. Peter’s.” 

“I am sure you had not. How could you?” 

“My only thought was for Darya. All my life I have 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


216 

thought of Darya, and I would gladly have given my life 
for hers. When the trouble came, and Darya was taken 
from me, I was left absolutely alone. My father had died 
in Schlusselberg, innocent of any wrong. My mother had 1 
died of grief at the loss of him. Louis was exiled by ad- 
ministrative order to Siberia. Aunt Olga, whom you 
know, was in Japan. Her husband, Prince Galtzine, was 
on a special mission there. I was desperate and ready to 
clutch at any straw that offered prospect of help. Do you 
know Paul Sordavala?” 

“By name and repute only.” 

“Then you know nothing good of him. He is a rene- 
gade and betrayed his country. He had been at one time 
— or pretended to be — a great friend of my father’s. He 
was in great favour at Petersburg because he had gone 
over to Russia. He came to me in my distress, with kind 
words and great promises. He had the ear of the Em- 
peror. He would get everything straightened out. Louis 
should come home. Darya should be released. Every- 
thing! — and 1 the price? — myself! He was three times my 
age. He was very wealthy. I cared nothing for him, but 
for Darya and Louis I cared everything. My life to re- 
deem theirs was a small thing for me to give. I married 
him, and when, later on, I urged him to his promises, he 
laughed at my simplicity, said all was fair in love and war, 
and that he considered Darya and Louis were best where 
they were. Then I hated him, and I left him at the first 
opportunity. Aunt Olga had hurried home as soon as she 
heard the dreadful news, and she gave me asylum. And I 
set to work at once, with her help, to do what I could for 
Darya. Our poor Louis is beyond help, I fear. I do not 
even know if he is still alive,” and she broke off with a deep 
sigh, and sat gazing into the fire. 

“And Sordavala?” asked Vemey, after a time. 

“He thought to sway the new Emperor as he had done 


TILL DEATH 


247 


the other, and went too far. He is in Siberia too — as 
Governor of the Eastern Province. It is equivalent to 
exile. I pray God he may never return.” 

“Poor child! You have had more than your share of 
suffering. May the future make up to some extent for the 
past! . . . When you told me — out there in the cut- 

ting — I felt sure there was some such story behind it all.” 

“And you do not detest me for this wrong I have done 
you?” 

“You know I do not, and I acknowledge no wrong. My 
very highest hope in life, ever since I saw you, and got to 
know you a little bit, has been that I might some time win 
your heart, Sonia.” 

She raised one hand an inch or two and let it fall — one 
of her expressive little gestures which spoke more than 
many words. 

“For this little time, dearest,” he said gently, “we may 
be quite frank with one another. Whatever comes of it, I 
thank God that I woke up out there in time to learn that 
you cared for me like that. I shall treasure it all my life. 
After this, circumstanced as we are, we must speak of this 
no more — for the present. What the future may bring 
we cannot tell. It is all in God’s hands. All we can do is 
to wait patiently and see what comes. Speaking as a man, 
I should say the future owes you much. May it all come to 
you !” 

“I ought to have told you — all this — out there on the 
lake that first day,” she said slowly. “But — you will un- 
derstand — my whole thought then wa’s for Darya. You 
were — then — only a means to an end. I never dreamed of 
this. You believe me?” and she glanced up quickly at him 
with her large sad eyes, like a child fearing reproof. 

“Every word, dear, and I understand fully.’” 

“You are a good man and true, and you have been very 
good to me” — the shapely little head 1 * Ivith its rich braids 


248 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


of hair somewhat rumpled by reason of all they had suf- 
fered since the morning, drooped confidingly against his 
knee, and it was all he could do to keep his bandaged hand 
off it. “Never in all my life have I felt to any man as I 

do to you — not even to Louis. . . . Oh — why ” 

she broke out passionately, and shook with sobs which 
would not be restrained. 

“Your confidence in me made me a very proud man,” he 
said quietly. “That you should care for me like this makes 
me prouder still. God do so to me and more if ever I do 
any smallest thing to forfeit either the one or the other. 
I feel like a man who has discovered hid treasure.” 

They sat long before the fire, loth to lose one smallest 
fragment of this golden time which the gods had dropped 
into their laps. Giant Circumstance had flung them rudely 
in the face of Death, and, in the rough shock of that meet- 
ing in the Presence, their hearts had been momentarily 
bared to one another. Now, in the exaltation which comes 
of victorious encounter with the enemy, they claimed this 
tribute of precious moments as their own, before returning 
to the lower rounds of life. 

“Aunt Olga and my dear Darya both urged me to tell 
you everything,” said Sonia, one time. “I suppose they 
saw — or they feared ” 

“And I was pluming myself all the time on letting no 
smallest sign of my feeling escape me.” 

“I knew,” she said, with a shake of the head. “I suppose 
a woman always knows. But — I was a coward. I feared 
to lose you ” 

“You need not. I would have helped you just the same, 
whatever you had told me. Though I don’t say I would 
have had quite the same joy in helping you. But — I don’t 
know that I can explain it — it was you, your own very self, 
the soul of you that looked out of your eyes, that first time 
we met by that blessed beech-tree at St. Peter’s — that I 


TILL DEATH 


249 


wanted to help. I never thought of you being married, of 
course. But I did think it likely — certain almost — that 
your heart was given to some one; but, all the same and 
not one whit the less, I wanted to help you with every ounce 
that was in me. Just as you wanted to help Darya. You 
asked nothing of her in return, but you would have given 
your life for her.” 

“It is all very strange to think of,” she said, with deep 
feeling. “I wonder why . . . But it is very good to 

think you felt that way about me. My heart has been sick, 
but it warms it to think of that.” 

“What day is it to-day?” she asked suddenly, one time. 

“It’s rather hard to keep track of things, but I think it 
must be Thursday.” 

And when she lapsed into silence again, and sat gazing 
into the fire, he presently said, “You are thinking that it 
is just fifteen days since we met one another — that only 
sixteen days ago we had not the remotest idea of one an- 
other’s existence. It is amazing to think of, isn’t it? And 
yet, truly, I know you better than people I have known all 
my life.” 

“I wonder !” she said, with a brief smile at the fire. “You 
know all there is to know about me, for I have told you 
everything. But I doubt if a man ever knows a woman 
fully.” 

“And you? Do you know me?” 

“I think a man is more easily read than a woman,” she 
said musingly. “We arc queer creatures. We don’t even 
know ourselves sometimes.” 

But, precious as those short hours had been, the parting 
time had to come. They had gone through much since the 
morning, and the physical and mental strain had been 
great. 

When he found her head drooping unconsciously against 


250 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


his knee again, he moved slightly so as to wake her, and 
said cheerfully, as he lifted her up — 

“You are tired out and I am tired out, and Billy has 
secured the best place in my bed. Good night, dear, and 
God keep you!” and he bent over her hand and kissed it 
gallantly, and she looked up at him with misty eyes and 
went away into her room. 

He stuffed the stove with pine logs, for so much fresh 
air round the hut lowered the temperature very consider- 
ably, pushed Billy out of the middle of his bed, in spite 
of his soundless curses, rolled himself tightly in his blan- 
kets, and was asleep in a moment, regardless of aching 
bones and bruised flesh, for he had never been so utterly 
worn out in his life before. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


STORM-WASHED 

T HEY both slept long and soundly. It was nearly 
mid-morning before Verney stretched and yawned, 
and promptly received a vigorous butt on the head 
from the disturbed Billy. 

Sonia had been lying awake for an hour or more, but 
this morning was as no other morning ever had been. 
There was a well-spring of joy in her heart, such as had 
never been there before, and every thought of Verney set 
it bubbling afresh. 

She would have risen the moment she woke, and set to 
work preparing food for him. There would be a new and 
vast enjoyment in serving him, in doing anything and 
everything for him. But until she heard some movement 
in the other room she would not stir, for sleep to an utterly 
wearied man is better than food'. 

But as soon as she heard his murmured remonstrance at 
his bedfellow’s petulance, she sprang up and dressed quick- 
ly, and was out before he had time to anticipate her in the 
fetching of clean snow for the coffee. 

“I’m sure you slept well,” was her greeting, and he 
rejoiced in the happier look on her face. 

“I don’t think I ever turned round once till Billy went 
for me, a few minutes ago. And you?” 

“I slept better than I have done for weeks past.” 

“I am glad. Now I will get you ” 

251 


252 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“You will please to sit down there and not move a 
finger. You did your work yesterday. This is my day. 
How are all the cuts and bruises ?” 

“I’ve had no time to think of them, but, now you men- 
tion them, I perceive they are still there.” 

“You shall rest all day, and after breakfast I will dress 
them again, and the rest will do them good.” 

And truly it was pleasant to be thus ordered for his 
good, and to sit and watch her flitting about and busying 
herself with her little household duties, with the darkest of 
the shadow gone from her face and a new spring in her 
step. The perils yesterday, he said to himself, were a small 
price to have paid for this. 

The piercing of the rubble heap, and the letting in 
through the gap of the fresh air and daylight, and at 
times even of gleams of sunshine, had their equivalents in 
the revelations of the night. The atmospheres — natural, 
mental, spiritual — were all braced and lightened. Life 
was on a wider and healthier base. The doubts and fears, 
and the disquieting veils that had hung between them, were 
all gone. They knew now where they stood. 

Those impalpable dividing lines had, indeed, given place 
to a more solid wall of partition which neither could lift a 
finger to surmount; but, amazingly enough, their hearts 
were quite at rest. 

Neither of them, even in their thoughts, formulated any 
specific hope for the future, and yet there was in them both 
a most decided, though unavowed, belief that, in some way 
or other, it would bring them relief and happiness, and they 
were content to wait. 

The position in which they found themselves had come 
upon them unawares and without their seeking. It was 
quite beyond their own solving. They were even debarred 
from making any attempt thereat, or of giving a thought 
thereto. But there was in them a quiet confidence that it 


STORM-WASHED 


253 


was not beyond the Power that set the problem to work 
out the solution also. There they had perforce to leave 
it, and they were content to do so. 

Vemey’s heart had gone out to Sonia in all sincerity and 
honour, without the faintest shadow of an idea of the 
anomalous position in which her unfortunate marriage 
placed them both. 

He could no more withdraw his love, so wholly given, 
than he could extract his actual heart and hand it to 
another. 

And he saw no reason to withdraw it, and had no slight- 
est intention of doing so. He loved her for herself, and 
when he learned all she had suffered he loved her the more. 

And she? Well, she had at one time dreamed girl-dreams 
of a love like this man’s — steadfast, uplifting, all-absorb- 
ing ; and — she had suffered much. 

Can you wonder that she clung to it as the greatest good 
life had vouchsafed her? 

That other repulsive yoke which bound her to a treacher- 
ous man might — must — hold them apart, so long as it 
existed. But a world full of Sordavalas could not keep 
her heart from Verney. 

He watched her flitting about her work, with keen en- 
joyment, and knew by her face and her every action that 
this day was to her as no other had ever been. 

But, delightful as it was to be ministered to in so whole- 
hearted a fashion, he did not accept his shelving without 
remonstrance. He had hardly known a day’s illness in his 
life, and to be suddenly labelled incapable and ordered to 
sit still and be waited on, was a novelty which needed some 
getting used to. 

More than once he started up with intention of help, at 
sight of her coming in with an armful of wood or a pailful 
of snow, but each time he found himself peremptorily 


254 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


ordered back again to his chair, with the smiling assurance 
that his assistance was not needed. 

And indeed, time to think of his dilapidations being thus 
forced upon him, he found himself in none too good a 
bodily state. His head throbbed and ached dizzily at times 
under its stiffened bandages. Every bone and muscle, and 
every inch of flesh upon them, seemed but a part of one 
great bruise, and his twisted ankle had swelled painfully 
again as the result of his exertions on the snow slope. 

But, the moment she had got her preparations for 
breakfast under way, Sonia turned her attention to him, 
replaced the hot dry bandages with cold damp ones, which 
made him feel fifty per cent, better in a moment, and bathed 
the swollen foot till it felt almost comfortable again. 

“You are a most excellent doctor,” he said appreciat- 
ively. 

“I have a most excellent patient — if he will only obey 
orders and do nothing.” 

“It’s hard work when you’re not used to it. I’ve never 
been shelved since I was a kiddie. However, I’ll do my 
best, unless I see you doing too much.” 

“It’s a pleasure to be doing, especially when one is doing 
for those one cares for.” 

“I know it,” he said, so heartily that she smiled. 

“I can’t help thinking of poor Aunt Olga,” she said one 
time. “There she is at Unterhofen following us in her 
heart. She will be saying, ‘Now they will be in Italy or 
Savoy. Soon they will be safely in England.’ And here 
we are within a stone’s throw of her, as it were, and our 
poor Darya is gone, and she will never see her again. It 
will be a terrible shock to her.” 

“You would like to get back to Unterhofen as soon as 
we get out of here, I suppose?” 

“Yes. I must go to Auntie, and you will come too, and 
we will tell her the whole matter, and she will be very good 


STORM-WASHED 


255 


to us. She thought very highly of you, and somewhat 
hardly of me, I’m afraid. But she is very good and very 
clever, and she will understand. And we will nurse you 
till you are quite all right again.” 

“I won’t need any nursing. I’m all right now, except 
that my fingers are in rags, and my foot ” 

“And your head, and your arm, and all your bruises. 
Oh you can do with some nursing very well. I’ve done my 
utmost to spoil your holiday; you must let me do my best 
to make up for it.” 

“I never had such a holiday before.” 

“I’m quite sure of it.” 

Oh, yes, she was in very much better spirits, now that 
one of the loads that had been weighing on her was re- 
moved. Her other burdens had been thrust upon her, but 
that particular one, for which she felt personally respon- 
sible, had been hard to bear, and release from it was like a 
breath of new life to her. 

The short day passed quietly and very happily with them, 
and all too quickly. 

In the afternoon Verney proposed getting out his flags 
of distress, but Sonia would not hear of it. 

“For to-day you will please me by doing nothing at all. 
I want you to rest absolutely,” she said. “Wait till you 
get over yesterday.” 

And so, since that was her will, he simply sat and watch- 
ed her, with an occasional pipe as a reward for obedience, 
and would have been well content to go on so for many 
more days than were likely to be possible. 

No single word passed touching that great and wonder- 
ful matter that lay between them. Like a flash of light- 
ning in a black night, the catastrophe of yesterday had 
revealed their mutual love. The storm had passed, the 
new day was calm and peaceful, but that which the storm 


256 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


revealed was theirs forever, and words concerning it were 
neither necessary nor permissible. 

But Verney’s eyes followed her and dwelt on her with 
a benison in them, and now and again she would catch his 
glance and smile back at him, and he was content. 

That new sweet light in her eyes, which told him frankly 
and without reserve all that was in her heart concerning 
him — the new spring in her step — the new joy in living, 
which showed in the valiant poise of the neatly-braided 
little head, in the high and purposeful look on the sweet 
piquant face, in the grace and charm of her every move- 
ment, and exhaled an incense of happiness which filled 
every corner of the little house ; all these were to him rich- 
est treasure-trove. He would have given his life for her at 
any moment, and asked nothing in return. His highest 
and ultimate and only desire was for her happiness. And 
she knew it. 

After supper that night they sat again in the firelight, 
as they had done the night before, talking at times, but 
more often in the closer companionship of that golden si- 
lence which only souls most perfectly attuned may hope to 
attain. 

When he bade her good-night, at the door of her room, 
there was a blessing deeper than words in the reverence 
with which he pressed his lips to her hand, and the warm 
little pressure of her hand in reply sent a thrill to his 
heart. They had no need for clumsy words. 

Sonia would have had him continue his rest cure next 
day also, and indeed the state of his hands precluded the 
idea of any very active use of them. But he was anxious 
to get his signals of distress hoisted', so that no chance of 
rescue might be missed. 

“Not that I think there is much prospect of any one 
seeing them,” he said, “unless Herr Unger takes it into his 
head to stroll round this way, to see how his property is 


STORM-WASHED 


257 


getting on. But we must remember that our supplies are 
limited, and I would not like to see you starve.” 

“Oh, we shan’t starve yet. We have plenty of pota- 
toes, and there is still some flour and some meal.” 

“I do believe you are in no hurry to get back to civilisa- 
tion,” he laughed. 

“Well! why should I be? It cannot make me any hap- 
pier than I am here.” 

“That is very good to hear. All the same, I’m respon- 
sible for you, you see, and your aunt will require you at 
my hands. So if you will get out Herr Unger’s old red 
shirt we will see what we can make of it. I’d like three 
flags, one fore, one aft, and one amidships.” 

So she got out the shirt, and cut it up under his direc- 
tion into two small flags and one large one, and rooting 
about, they found a hammer and nails, and nailed them 
firmly to three slim pine-poles, and proceeded at once to 
display the large one through the great gap overlooking 
the valley. 

To do this they had to splice pole to pole as well as they 
were able, and, from the state of his hands, he could do 
little more than show her how to proceed. It required 
three poles to get the flag out far enough, and to secure 
the inside end, and when it was done the flag sagged down 
away below the cornice. 

But when at last it fluttered out in the breeze, they 
stood for a few minutes looking down over the great white 
sweep below, which had come so near parting them — a 
parting which would, without doubt, have led to a swift 
reunion beyond. For, if Vemey had met quick death out 
there, Sonia would, as it turned out, inevitably have had 
to face the slower death of starvation up above. 

And so, with the thought of it all in them, and the re- 
membrance of the vital part that rough tunnel had played 
in their lives — his tragic disappearance, and wonderful 


258 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


return, her agonies of loss and fear and despair, and the 
sudden baring of their hearts to one another — they stood 
side by side, their hearts swept with many emotions, but 
chiefly with an overpowering gratitude that they had been 
spared to one another. 

With sudden stress of feeling Verney caught her hand 
and pressed it to his lips. 

“But for you I should be lying dead and cold out there,” 
he said impulsively. 

“Thank God for His great mercy to us,” she said, and 
her eyes were full of tears. 

It took three more poles to hoist the flag through the 
vent-hole. “For,” said Verney, “it must stand well above 
the snow, or it will have no chance.” And space was so 
limited, and the conditions so awkward, that the splicing 
of these poles was much more difficult than in the other case. 

However, they managed it roughly at last, and the 
butt of the lower pole was safely grounded, when, to their 
great astonishment, it began to shake violently, and they 
stood looking at it and at one another. 

“Why, it must be blowing a gale up there,” said Ver- 
ney. “It seemed quiet enough in the valley.” 

And then a faint ghostly voice came down the vent-hole ; 
“Hello! Below there!” and Verney gave a great shout. 

“Hello ! Hello ! Hello !” he cried, funnelling his hands, 
till the wood-shed bellowed again, and the kid, who had 
been inspecting operations with his usual inquisitiveness, 
leaped twice his own height and then fled, and buried him- 
self deep in Verney ’s bed. 

But shouting down a hole to which you can bend and 
get your mouth close, is one thing; and getting your voice 
to carry through a hole eight feet above your head, even 
when you are standing on a chair, is quite another thing. 

However, there was no fear of the visitor up above 
going away till he had found 1 out what that flag meant. 


STORM-WASHED 


259 


So Verney hastily sought a scrap of paper, and scrawl- 
ed on it in German, in letters that a blind man could have 
read, almost : “There is an Opening on the Slope 

BELOW, AND A ROPE.” 

Then he made a cleft in a pine-pole, secured his message 
in it, and pushed it up through the vent with the assistance 
of a stouter pole at its butt ; and then they went round to 
the gap to await results, and lifted the pine-poles, to which 
the rope was attached, into position against the window- 
frame as they went. It was a good half-hour before the fig- 
ure of a man crept slowly into the limited range of their 
outlook, gazing up at the gap with obvious wonder. 

“Herr Unger himself !” said Verney joyfully. “Good old 
chap! I wonder if he can climb that rope?” The old man 
stood leaning on his ice-pick and staring up into the hole. 

“Good-day, Herr Unger!” shouted Verney. “Can you 
mount the rope?” and he shook it to attract his attention. 

Unger clambered along to it on the sides of his feet, 
which seemed to grip the snow like hooks, laid hold of it, 
and tested it knowingly with his weight, then slung his 
pick to his back, and came walking up the slope as though 
his life had been spent doing nothing else. 

He hoisted himself in with a grip of Vemey’s hand, and 
stood gazing at them with wide eyes and open mouth, first 
and longest at Sonia in his daughter’s dress, and then at 
Verney, his eyes blinking with surprise. 

“ Herr gott!” he jerked at last. “Is it you, Herr? 
Whatever are you doing here?” 

“It’s a long story. Come inside and have some coffee 
and some Kirsch. We are mighty glad to see you again. 
We felt sure you would come sooner or later.” 

He followed them wonderingly, and at sight and sound 
of him, as he got through the window, the kid came out of 
his hiding-place and frisked himself nearly out of his skin. 


260 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“There ! There !” said the old man, rubbing him know- 
ingly under the ears. “I never expected to see you again, 
little one. Is he the only one left, mein Herr?” 

“The only one we have seen.” 

“There were six — the finest goats on the mountain- 
side. However And you, Herr? But — there were 

three of you, nicht wahr?” 

“There were,” said Verney quietly. “One has been 
taken.” 

And the old man uncovered solemnly and said: “God 
rest him! It is the toll of the snows. How was it?” 

Sonia turned to see to the coffee while Verney rapidly 
outlined their story. 

“It is the good mercy of God that enabled you to get 
here,” said Herr Unger, when he had heard how they came 
to be in the hut. 

“We have not forgotten to thank Him, you may be sure.” 

“I am sure. It is here in the mountains that one comes 
closest to Him — yes, indeed! — much closer than in the 
valleys and the villages. But you are hurt?” he asked, 
looking at Verney’s bandages, his head, his hands, his foot. 

And Herr gott! Herr gott!” kept breaking from 
the old man’s lips as these were all explained to him. “But 
truly you have cause to be thankful, Herr. It is a won- 
der you are alive.” 

“I know it, and I am thankful indeed, and especially 
for the Fraulein’s sake. If I had died out there on the 
slope it might have fared ill with her.” 

“Without a doubt. For let me tell you, Herr. I came 
up only to look this morning, and when I saw what had 
happened I turned and was going back, to wait down 
there till the spring, for it would have been useless 
digging this out now. It was just as I turned for a last 
look that your flag came up through the snow and gave 
me a start ” 


STORM-WASHED 


261 


“That was a close shave.” 

“Another minute and I would have been gone, and I 
might not have turned again. And no man would have 
passed by here for many months, since the path is gone.” 

“Thank God you saw us !” said Verney fervently. 

“Yes, He is good to those who trust Him,” said the old 1 
man, as simply as a child. “And the Fraulein — and I took 
her for a boy, that other morning,” he said, with a smile. 

“They adopted that dress for crossing the mountains, 
but the Fraulein found that beautiful costume and could 
not resist it. And I put on these things because my own 
were done to rags. You do not mind?” 

“All I have is warmly at your service, Herr, and the 
Fraulein’s. She is very beautiful. She reminds me of my 
little Frieda. She, too, was beautiful. She died two weeks 
before she was to have been married, and since then I have 
been alone.” 

“But never lonely,” said Verney, recalling his happy 
temper the morning they first met him. 

“Oh, never lonely, Herr. A man is lonely or not accord- 
ing to what he has in him, and, God be thanked, my life 
has always been a full one.” 

“If you will drink your coffee now I will have dinner 
ready very quickly,” said Sonia, as she placed the coffee- 
pot and Kirsch before them. “I am sure Herr Unger is 
ready to eat after his long walk.” 

“Yes, I am hungry, but I brought something with me, 
as I expected to be out all day,” and he produced a great 
chunk of bread and a section of sausage, which made Ver- 
ney’s mouth water. 

“Ah — ha!” said he. “Sausage! We will swop delica- 
cies with you, Herr Unger. We have lived on sardines 
and potatoes, and meal and flour cakes, for six whole days. 
Sausage is a luxury indeed.” 


262 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“It is at your service, Herr and Fraulein. Many a time 
on the mountains brown bread and cheese have been my 
only faring, and good faring too !” 

“If the Fraulein has been cooking for you all the time, 
Herr, you have not suffered, I am sure,” he said presently, 
as the savours of Sonia’s operations tickled his nostrils. 

“She is the best cook in all the world,” said Verney. 

“So!” said the old man, and regarded her with new 
appreciation. 

“But drink your coffee,” said Verney, “and here is the 
Kirsch, and we will smoke to fill up the time. And now, how 
are we to get back to earth and the lower rounds of life?” 

“Ah, yes !” — with a twinkle in the deep eyes. “To earth 
and the lower rounds of life ! And which way — to the 
south still? That will not be too easy. You could never 
cross the Gemmi with that foot. It is painful? Can you 
use it at all?” 

“Only with difficulty. I’m afraid it’s rather a bad 
sprain. What’s to be done? We would like to get back 
to Lake Thun.” 

“Ah — the Thuner See ! Then I think you must wait 
here one more night, if you will, and to-morrow I will bring 
men from Artelen and a carrying chair. The path is still 
good up to a mile from here, and for that distance we 
must help you with our arms.” 

“How do we go?” 

“Along the slope down there. That is the only way 
possible, but we will manage it all right. You see, our 
boots are made to grip the snow and bite the ice. We 
will manage it all right — unless another slide should come 
to-night, which God forbid ! And there are no signs of it. 
The sky is clear.” 

“Then that is settled, and our indebtedness to you, Herr 
Unger, is more than money can pay.” 

“I thank God I was in time,” was all Herr Unger said. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

THE EAST DAY 

V ERNEY had never been able to cultivate a proper 
taste for sausage even in its most aristocratic pre- 
sentments, but he never forgot the piquancy with 
which Herr Unger’s homely wurst appealed to him after 
six days of sardines. Sonia, too, acknowledged the charm 
of a change of diet, and Herr Unger’s enjoyment in their 
enjoyment was visibly as great as their own. 

He himself made most excellent play with Sonia’s cakes 
and fried potatoes, and complimented her with the naivete 
of an honest and truthful man given to direct expression. 

He sat and smoked for a time after dinner, and drank 
more coffee, and then got up and said it was time for him 
to go. 

“And you need have no further fears, Fraulein and 
Herr. Whatever happens we will come for you, now that 
we know you are here.” 

“We have had no fears all along, Herr Unger. We 
knew you would come sooner or later,” said Verney. 

“All the same, but for your flag I might have gone back 
none the wiser. What would you have done then?” 

“In the last extremity, I suppose we should have had to 
make our way along the slope. But it would certainly 
have been difficult and dangerous.” 

“It would almost certainly have meant death. One false 
step down there and — the end, two thousand feet below.” 

263 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


261 

He let himself cautiously down by the rope, waved his 
hand, and, treading slowly and carefully, passed out of 
their sight. 

“He is a dear old man,” said Sonia, with much feeling. 
“What can we do for him?” 

“All he will let us, which will not be much. But we will 
at all events keep in touch with him and see that he never 
wants. He is a typical old Switzer of the breed of Tell 
and Winkelried. It may be difficult to repay him for all 
he has done for us without wounding his susceptibilities, 
but we’ll manage it somehow.” 

During the rest of that day, Sonia showed no signs of 
joy at their approaching deliverance. She was indeed 
inclined to pensiveness, and Vemey rallied her on it. 

“I do believe you are almost sorry to be rescued,” he 
said one time. 

“Well! — and why not? I have been sadder here and 
happier than ever I was in my life before. We have been 
living in the depths and on the heights. The common 
round will seem very tame and anaemic, I fear. Here we 
have lived.” 

“And almost died. The common round is at all events 
safer.” 

“Safety is not everything. Perhaps it is not the best 
thing. Bitterness is at the bottom of the cup, and the 
flavour and sparkle at the top. What lies in between may 
be a trifle tasteless.” 

“Oh fair philosopher ! If I don’t argue the matter with 
you it is because I sympathise with your feelings. All the 
same, I prefer to think of you under the safe shelter of 
Aunt Olga’s wing. Shall we advise her of our return?” 

“I have been wondering. One can say so little in a tele- 
gram, and whatever one says may get known.” 

“Then I should say not. It will be a terrible shock to 


THE LAST DAY 


265 


her, I fear. But as you say, all one could say in a tele- 
gram would only prolong her anxiety.” 

“Yes, it will be a terrible shock to her, for she was very 
fond of Darya. But terrible shocks are best delivered 
quickly. The other is torture.” 

“Then we will just go quietly home and carry our news 
with us.” 

In spite of his arguments in favour of safety, Verney 
found himself regretting the near approach of the end of 
their stay in the rough little wooden hut, as heartily as 
Sonia herself. So vitally and indisputably true is it that 
life’s highest and deepest joys depend not on one’s out- 
ward circumstances, but upon one’s internal possessions — 
not upon the body but upon the heart. Bruised and brok- 
en, weary and earth-stained, as he had never been in his 
life before, deprived of everything which in the ordinary 
course of things he had deemed necessary to his comfort, 
he had found there what the whole outside world could not 
give him. 

There was a bar across his happiness, indeed, which he 
might not lift a finger to remove, and against which neither 
he nor Sonia would trespass by so much as a hair’s- 
breadth, but no such shackle of treacherous man’s impos- 
ing could fetter the freedom of their hearts. And for the 
rest — God was good, and they could wait. For Love, at 
its highest, seeks not its own, but only and wholly the good 
of the beloved. 

They sat long before the fire again, that last night, 
with scarce a word between them, their hearts too full for 
speech. 

Once, a little sob, which she could not quite choke down, 
shook Sonia as she leaned her shoulder against his knee, 
and it went straight to his heart. 

He laid his bandaged hand gently on her shoulder, and 


266 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


said quietly, “Dearest, we will not believe that God has 

nothing better for you than a broken life ” 

“Yet — our poor Darya!” she whispered, with another 
catch in the throat. 

“Yes — we cannot understand, but we may always hope, 
and that we will do as long as life lasts us.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


DOWN-HILL 

O N the following morning, when Sonia came out of 
her room she was dressed in her walking costume, 
and Verney was astonished to discover within him- 
self a momentary shock of surprise. The picturesque 
charm of the Bernese dress had delighted him so hugely 
that he found it difficult to reconcile himself all at once to 
the change, and he stood regarding her in silence. 

“I have wrapped the others up just as I found them 
and put them away into their box,” she said, in reply to 
his look. “And these will be better for the slope down 
there.” 

“Quite right !” and he added with a smile, “There was 
a time, long ago, when I liked you best en g argon, because 
then I felt myself nearer to you. But now — yea, now I 
prefer you as yourself.” 

“When we get home I will get a costume just like that 
other one, and I will wear it now and then in memory of 
Herr Unger’s hut.” 

“What about a hat?” 

“I will make one after breakfast,” and in half-an-hour 
she fashioned one out of a piece of Verney ’s ragged coat, 
something in the shape of a tam-o’-shanter, which covered 
her hair completely. 

They tidied up the house as well as was possible, and 
left things all ship-shape, and about half-way through 
the morning a shout from below took them to the gap, and 
they found old Hans standing there with two others. 

267 


268 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Good morning, Herr ” and he stopped and stared 

at Sonia. “The others with the chairs are waiting on the 
path. I will come up. Is the rope secured?” 

“All tight! And we are all ready,” and the old man 
came up the snow-wall like a fly. 

“ Ach — so you are a boy again, Fraulein?” and he 
smiled quizzically at Sonia. “But, indeed, I like you best 
as a girl.” 

“You have most excellent taste, Herr Unger. So do I,” 
said Vemey, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“I do myself,” said Sonia. “But for crawling on snow 
slopes this is better.” 

“It is true. But I have brought a chair for you also.” 

“That is very good of you. I have put all the other 
things away in the chest, just as I found them.” 

“I thank you, Fraulein. There are just two, three 
others I will put away also, and then we will go,” he said. 
“Meanwhile you and the Herr will please put on these 
rough stockings over your other things. They will keep 
you from slipping.” 

“I think we’ve left everything as we found it, except the 
cupboards, which are pretty well cleaned out,” said Sonia. 

“That is the difference between people,” said the old 
man, with his quiet smile. “Some would have left every- 
thing topsy-turvy.” 

He carefully put his little store of books into the big 
wooden chest, closed the door leading to the wood-shed, 
locked the other door, and took down his zither, which he 
packed into a wooden case to take away with him saying — 

“It gives much pleasure to the folks down there.” 

“Now,” he said, making a stout loop in the end of the 
rope, “if the Fraulein will sit in that and let herself down 
over the ledge with the help of my hands — so!” and he 
lowered her gently to the waiting men below, who had flat- 


DOWN-HILL 


269 


tened a little platform where she could sit without fear of 
slipping. 

“Now, Herr!” and Vemey followed. 

Then Herr Unger sent down a couple of stout pine 
poles, and they heard him closing the window and shutters, 
and saw him refixing the anchor of pine poles across the 
inside of the gap. 

“I wondered how he would manage that,” said Yerney. 
“I hope the sides of that hole will hold,” and presently 
the old man came sliding down the doubled rope, with the 
kid in his arms and his zither at his back. Then, loosing 
one end of the rope, he drew it down over the poles up 
above and coiled it on his arm ready for further use. 

“Excellently well done, so far, Herr Unger. What’s the 
next step?” said Verney cheerfully, though the exertion 
already undertaken filled him with aches and pains. 

“I thought it all out last night,” said the old man, as he 
cut two lengths off the rope, tied loops at their ends, drop- 
ped them over the other men’s shoulders, and slipped the 
ends of the pine-poles into the loops. “Now, if you will 
take the poles under your arms, Herr, the men will go 
very slowly, and you can lean all your weight on them if 
you wish.” 

“You are a genius, Herr Unger. But what will hap- 
pen if any of us slip?” 

“We do not slip,” said the old man quietly. “When it 
means death to slip one soon learns to walk surely; and 
then our boots are made to grip.” 

“And the Eraulein?” 

“She is in my charge.” 

“Then I am sure she is quite safe.” 

“She is quite safe, Herr.” 

He took a couple of turns of the rope round Sonia’s 
waist and handed her a long iron-pointed stick. 


no 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“We trod down as much of a path as we could in com- 
ing. You will find it quite easy,” he said encouragingly. 
“Walk just in front of me, and I will put this long pole 
under your right arm — so ! — now, you see ! Quite easy 
and quite safe,” and the procession started. 

They went for a time in silence, and all Verney ’s atten- 
tion had to be given to endeavoring to accommodate his 
ungainly hops to the short heavy tread of the mountain 
men. 

Then those behind stopped, and his own two stopped, 
and he heard, “What then, Fraulein?” 

“I’m sorry. I looked down and it made my head swim.” 

“It is better to look up, or straight ahead at the back 
of the man in front.” 

“I won’t do it again. But it’s horribly fascinating 
down there.” 

“Quite a little sermon, Herr Unger,” said Verney, as 
they started again. 

“It is a good rule, Herr, when your head is not used to 
the work. There is the path ahead of us, and the men 
with the chairs.” 

It took them close on an hour to cover the distance be- 
tween the gap and the path, and when they had crawled 
slowly up the final ascent, and Sonia sank into her chair, 
she was faint and giddy with the unusual strain, and 
bathed in perspiration. 

Verney was in much the like case, and both were soberly 
grateful under a very profound feeling of deliverance 
from mighty peril. 

Sonia’s head swam again each time she glanced down 
over the right-hand side of her chair, and the sight drew 
her eyes in spite of herself, till at last she closed them 
tightly, and did not open them again till they had rounded 
the shoulder towards Artelen, and those dreadful white 
slopes, sweeping sheerly down and down without a break. 


DOWN-HILL 


271 


and whispering incessantly, “Come! come! come!” were 
left behind. 

Of all the party the kid showed most enjoyment in the 
journey. His master dropped him on to his feet as soon 
as they reached the path, and he danced and frisked jubi- 
lantly all the way along — now standing on the extreme 
edge with flicking tail and inquisitive eyes, gazing into the 
depths as though meditating a leap, and making unsophis- 
ticated heads spin just to look at him — then with frolic- 
some bounds away along the path in front — trotting back 
every minute or two with an anxious bleat, to make sure 
that it was all right with the rest of them. 

And when Verney saw the old man’s evident love for the 
little beast, his conscience pricked him that at one time he 
had pondered the idea of eating him. If Billy, or any 
portion of him, had been inside him he felt sure he could 
never have looked his master in the face. 

At Artelen they stopped for rest and refreshments, and 
the women of the place gathered round them full of cheer- 
ful sympathy and encouragement, and were not a little 
surprised at the small need there was for any such senti- 
ments. 

“But we are all right,” Verney laughingly assured them. 
“We’ve had a splendid time.” 

“The Herr has not starved, by the look of him,” said 
one old dame. 

“He has suffered all the same,” said another. 

“You should see Herr Unger’s cupboards,” laughed 
Verney. “It is they that have suffered most — nothing 
left but bare boards. 

“Then it is a good thing old Hans took it into his head 
to go up there yesterday, or the Herr would have lived 
thin today.” 

“We will go right on to Adelboden, Herr, unless you 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


272 

would prefer to break the journey here,” said old Hans 
presently. 

“We will do just what you think best, Herr Unger. But 
you have done much already this morning, and we would 
not overtax your kindness.” 

“Then we will go on and get the job ended. It is all 
downhill now, you see, and you will find greater comfort 
dowm there,” and they jogged on again, and swung into 
Adelboden early in the afternoon, to the immense surprise 
of the inhabitants and the great gratification of the land- 
lord of the Post , who welcomed them with effusion. 

“You return then, Herren? But, truly, you have been 
longer of coming than I expected,” he beamed, by way of 
greeting. 

“And if it had not been for good Herr Unger here we 
might have been longer still, Herr Landlord. He will 
stop with us the night here. We cannot part with him 
yet. Now you will get ready for us the very best dinner 
the house can provide, and I and my young friend here 
w T ant hot baths, and clean shirts and stockings, as quick, 
as you can get them for us.” 

“At your service, mein Herr. Dinner in an hour. Baths, 
shirts, stockings, in ten, twenty minutes, as quickly as it 
is possible. But yes, I am truly glad the Herren decided 
to come back this way,” and he showed them up to their 
rooms in a bustle of congratulation on their account and 
his own. 

“But,” he said, gazing inquiringly at Verney, as he 
opened the door of his room, after installing Sonia in hers, 
“surely — were there not two of the younger Herren?” 

“Our companion was killed by the snow-slide which 
buried us in Herr Unger’s hut,” said Verney quietly. 

“Ah — the misfortune!” 

“And the one w r ho returns with me is a lady. She dress- 
es so for the climbing, as is customary with us.” 


DOWN-HILL 


273 

“It is sensible,” nodded the landlord, ready to accept 
anything as right and proper from such good customers. 

“We shall stop here to-night, perhaps to-morrow also. 
Our experiences have been somewhat trying. Now! — the 
baths, the shirts, the stockings, and your best dinner in 
an hour, and meanwhile supply the friends who brought 
us here with anything they would wish to have.” 

The landlord rose to the occasion, and it was good to 
see the justice done to his ample providing by the burly 
mountain men. It would be hard to say who among them 
all enjoyed the impromptu banquet most. 

The Artelen men were all middle-aged stalwarts, brown- 
face, clear-eyed, bushy-beard, slow and direct of speech, 
as became men who had ample time for thinking and not 
over many to speak to — thoughtful and sober-minded, as 
was natural to men whose lives were passed among God’s 
masterpieces, with Death lurking closer than he did in the 
valleys. 

They were genuinely loth to accept the gifts Verney 
pressed upon them. But then they were men of the moun- 
tains, and the spirit of the mountains was in them. They 
fell in with his ideas at last, but as men not accustomed 
to accept favors. 

But the little speech of grateful acknowledgment for 
all they had done for himself and his friend, which he 
made to them as they sat sipping their coffee and Kirsch 
and smoking their big pipes, was much more to their taste, 
and every one of them begged him to come back and see 
them again next year. 

Then they all wrung his and Sonia’s hands very heartily, 
and tramped away up the road past Im Boden, and only 
Hans Unger remained, and to judge by his appearance he 
rather dreaded what Verney might be going to say to him. 

It was when Sonia had bidden them good-night and gone 




THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


off to bed, and they two sat smoking together, that Verney 
told him what he wanted. 

“You have done much for us, my friend ” he began. 

“By the good God’s mercy, Herr,” said the old man 
hastily, as though to prevent more. 

“Now I want you to do something more.” 

“Right willingly, Herr” — with visible relief — “I shall be 
glad ” 

“In the spring-time, when the snows melt, you will be on 
the look-out, and when you think the time is near, you 
will come down here and send me a telegram, saying, 
“Come,” and I will come at once, and together we will find 
her who lies buried under the snows up there, and we will 
lay her to rest.” 

“I will do it, Herr, just as you say. It will be April — 
May. The slope gets the sun, you see, but much snow and 
dirt came down that day, and it lies deep.” 

“And now — yourself, Herr Unger. No, it is no use 
your trying to escape the recompense of your good 
deeds ’ 

“But truly I did nothing, Herr, nothing at all. I was 
bound to go to my house, and I could not leave you there, 
so I brought you away. That was all.” 

“If I break into a man’s house in his absence and make 
free with all he possesses, I am bound to make it good. 
That is simple, straightforward business. But for all 
your kindness and courtesies we feel under very deep 
obligation to you, and you must let us show it in the way 
that will give you most pleasure. Now, tell me. Will that 
path be opened again? It seems to me that will be a very 
big business. There must be hundreds of tons of stones 
and earth on it.” 

“I am not sure that they will open it again, Herr. For, 
you see, the new way by the Engstlingengrat is gaining 


DOWN-HILL 


275 


favour, and they may not consider it worth their while to 
spend money on the old path.” 

“And what will Herr Unger do then?” 

“I cannot tell yet, Herr,” with a weighty shake of the 
head. “Perhaps . . . but they may appoint a younger 
man to look after the path, though I doubt if any would do 
it better than I would, for it is the work I have done all my 
life, and I love it. To keep a safe path for men to tread — 
it is not a great business, but it is a good work.” 

“Yes, it is a good work, and they will not easily find 
one to do it as well as yourself, old friend. And I promise 
you I will do everything in my power to get it for you.” 

“Ah now — if you could do that, Herr!” and the deep 
eyes kindled hopefully, and the fine old face lighted up 
joyfully. 

“I will tackle the authorities at once. And if it goes 
as we hope, you will let me see to your new house and new 
goats ” 

“The poor beasts ! — but doubtless one can get to love 
others as much.” 

“And new everything. That is the very least you can 
let me do, when I’ve robbed you even of your best suit, 
and have got it on at this very moment.” 

“You were very welcome to it all, Herr, as you very 
well know. And your goodness of heart makes too much 
of it all. But, truly, I would miss the mountains and my 
work, and if I can keep them I will ask no more.” 

So that was all satisfactorily settled, as far as it could 
be then, with no loss of dignity on the part of Herr Unger, 
and much to the content of his new friends, who had con- 
ceived a very great liking for the old fellow. 

He spent the following day with them as an honored 
guest, and Verney, with the assistance of the landlord and 
the pastor of the church, laid his plans forthwith for 
getting him installed as guardian of the new way by the 
Engstilgengrat. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


TWO FROM THE DEAD 

N EXT day, amid the hearty auf wiedersehens of 
the villagers and Herr Unger, and especially of 
the landlord of the Post — who would have asked 
nothing better than such free-handed guests, no matter 
how they chose to dress every day in the year — they set 
off down the Engstligenthal in the Post's very best car- 
riage and pair, and covered the twenty and odd miles to 
Spiez in an easy-going three hours. 

And as they were rolling along in the clear blue sunshine, 
with Biindi Horn gleaming white under new snow across 
the river, Sonia laid her hand suddenly on Verney’s arm, 
and pointed to the other side of the valley. 

“Do you remember?” she whispered. 

And, just across there, he recognised the cattle-hut 
where they had fought the Black-faced Three just eleven 
days before. 

“Yes,” he nodded gravely. . . . “They little knew 

what they were doing. . . . They wanted a few pieces 

of silver, but they altered our lives. . . . It is strange 

to think of. Three rascals push themselves into our lives 
for a moment, and are kicked out, but the results of them 
are ineffaceable. If we had not met them, we would have 

got over the Tschingellochtighorn all safely ” 

“And Darya would be alive and we would be on our way 
to England.” 

“Truly, cause and effect seem out of all proportion. But 

276 


TWO FROM THE DEAD 


m 

life is full of anomalies like that. It was the oddness of the 
name “St. Peter’s-insel,” which casually caught my eye in 
Baedeker, that took me to that heavenly little place. Just 
suppose I hadn’t gone that very day! — or suppose I had 
gone round by the path instead of going over the hill by 
that beech-tree ! Why, our whole lives might have been 
altered !” 

“It makes one quake inside to think on what very little 
things our happiness — and our lives too — depend. But 
I’m glad you came to St. Peter’s, and that you came up 
the hill.” 

“I’m more than glad. I’m most profoundly grateful 
to the powers that ordered it so.” 

At Spiez, they lunched briefly at the Spiezerhof , and 
then hired a boat and a couple of men, and were pulled 
right across to the Chateau. 

While yet a long way off they descried a white figure in 
the garden, and Sonia said, “That is M. Joannot. He 
always takes the air in the afternoon. He shall break the 
news to Auntie.” 

So they pulled in towards the water-steps at the far end 
of the garden, and M. Joannot, with a face as white as the 
cap in his hand, was awaiting them at the top of the flight 
when they landed. 

Verney paid the boatmen, and they turned and started 
at once for home. 

M. Joannot’s white lips trembled with questions, but no 
sound came from them, and his eyes were full of the fears 
that were in him. 

Verney took him gently by the arm. 

“We bring very sad news, M. Joannot, and we want 
you to break it to Madame, lest the shock be too great for 
her. You will just go to her and say, ‘Miss Sonia and Mr. 
Verney have returned. There has been an accident.’ Noth- 
ing more. Then call to us. We will be just outside.” 


278 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“And Mile. Darya?” gasped the old man shakenly. 

“We were all caught by an avalanche, and she was 
swept away. Mile. Sonia and I have been under the snow 
for six days.” 

“ Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! The poor child! Our poor 
little Darya! But what an ending to her sad little life! 
Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu!” and his long white hands twisted 
till they cracked.” 

“Now go, dear M. Joannot. The sooner we get it over 
the better for all of us,” and the old man went off along the 
path under the trees, still murmuring, “ Mon Dieu! Mon 
Dieu!” 

He met his mistress just coming downstairs after her 
afternoon nap, and she stopped at sight of him and said — 

“Why, my good Joannot, what has taken you? One 
might think you had seen a ghost.” 

“I have, Madame, I have. Two, returned from the dead. 
Mile. Sonia and Mr. Vemey have come back ” 

“Sonia and M. Verney? — Returned from the dead? 
And Darya?” 

“There has been an accident. They will tell you ” 

and he stumbled out through the window and mutely waved 
the others in. 

Sonia flung herself on the motherly breast which had 
been her one sure refuge since her own mother died, and 
hung there sobbing, while Madame’s anguished eyes pray- 
ed Verney to explain. 

“Our poor Darya’s troubles are over,” he said simply. 
“We were on the path round the Tschingellochtighorn 
when an avalanche caught us. We two escaped by a hair’s- 
breadth, by the mercy of God. Darya was taken. We 
have been buried under the snow for six days, and were 
only got out the day before yesterday.” 

“ Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” gasped Madame, and M. 
Joannot twisted his hands again to keep his feelings under 


TWO FROM THE DEAD 


279 


restraint. “That is a terrible ending to it all,” and Sonia 
gave a convulsive sob, as though the words suggested some 
reproach for this unforeseen result of her valiant attempt 
at rescue. 

“Nay, I did not mean that, dear child,” said Madame, 
quick to interpret, through the tension of her own feelings. 
“You did everything you could, I am quite sure. And M. 
Verney has suffered, I can see.” 

“Oh, Auntie, I would have died with her if M. Yerney 
had not held me back. He has put his life between me and 
death all through. But for him I would not be here.” 

“I thank you, Monsieur,” said the old lady brokenly. 
“Thank God, one of them is spared to my old age ! . . . 

I am sure you did all you could.” 

“For Darya I could do nothing. She was in front, and 
the snow swept her into the depths before our eyes. Before 
we realized it Sonia and 1 I were buried ten feet deep. We 
escaped by a miracle.” 

“God be thanked for the miracle!” said Madame fer- 
vently. “If this dear child had been taken too, I should 
have been left desolate indeed. We have cost you more 
than we dreamed of, M. Verney.” 

“The cost is nothing, Madame, I assure you. I too 
thank God most gratefully for the life that is spared to 
us,” and Madame’s womanly wit fathomed the fact that 
these two understood one another. 

She smoothed Sonia’s hair softly, and drew her to a seat. 

“You will tell me all about it presently,” she said gently, 
but the kind old face was full of perplexity and trouble. 
“And your injuries, M. Verney? Are they serious? Shall 
we send for a doctor?” 

“They are really not very much — a sprain, and a knife- 
wound, and a thousand bruises, more or less,” said Verney 
cheerfully. “But if a medico can hasten the cure I will 
thank him.” 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


5280 

“A knife-wound ! My good Joannot, run yourself at 
once for Dr. Stauffer, and tell him to bring everything 
that may be necessary. Tell him nothing, you understand, 
except that a friend who is stopping with us has had an 
accident. And — Joannot — tell them to send us in some tea 
at once. I will see to the rooms myself,” and M. Joannot 
sped away, peeling off his white jacket before he was well 
out of the room. 

“Just a cup of tea,” as old Barbara brought it in, with 
a face like a mass of interrogation marks, “and then I will 
take you to your rooms. Barbara, take up hot water and 
cold at once to the room M. Verney had before, and also 
to Mademoiselle’s. The beds will do later.” 

“How came the knife-wound, M. Verney?” she asked, as 
she handed him his tea. “Is it your hand?” and she eyed 
his bandages. 

“No, it’s in my arm here. We were waylaid by three 
rascally Italians in the Engstligen Thai as we were making 
for Adelboden. We had to beat them off, and one threw 
his knife and it just sliced my arm.” 

“But that is dreadful — here in Switzerland !” 

“We paid them for it, but it was really the delay they 
caused us that brought about our catastrophe. But for 
them we would have been across the Gemmi when the snow- 
slide occurred.” 

Then a tap on the door, and 1 M. Joannot’s troubled face 
appeared. 

“Dr. Stauffer is here, madame” — and Sonia started up 
to make her escape by the other door. “He is in the li- 
brary” — and Sonia breathed freely again. 

“You will take the doctor up to M. Verney’s room, my 
good Joannot, and offer him any assistance in your power,” 
and Verney followed him out of the room. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


HOPING EVER 

V ERNEY, with his arm in a sling, his foot tightly 
bandaged, his head neatly strapped, and his ragged 
hands — covered with healing ointment — in white 
kid gloves, lay on a sofa, smoking by permission, and talk- 
ing with Madame Gaitzine, long after Sonia had retired to 
her room that night. 

Between them they had told Madame pretty nearly 
everything that was to be told, but both Madame and him- 
self had desired, and seen the necessity for, this quiet priv- 
ate sitting. 

“The doctor says you must have suffered agonies, my 
dear boy,” said Madame pitifully. “And I suffer for you 
in my heart, for we had no right to ask so much from you.” 

“But you did not, dear Madame. These little matters 
are quite incidental. We could neither foresee them nor 
avoid them. I cannot think of a single thing we ought to 
have done differently. Unless, indeed, we had paid those 
rascally Italians to leave us in peace, and that commended 
itself to none of us.” 

“Canaille!” murmured Madame. 

“I hope you won’t let my little accidents worry you. A 
quiet day or two and the doctor says they will do all right. 
Only I’m afraid I must beg M. Joannot to valet me, for 
the arbitrary Stauffer forbids me to take these gloves off 
till I’ve got some skin on my hands.” 

“You shall have everything done for you. Every min- 
ute I am saying to myself, “Thank God he brought Sonia 

281 


282 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


back to me !” You do not know how very dear that dear 
child is to me.” 

“I can imagine. I would give my life to make her 
happy.” 

“You know the whole matter. She has told me.” 

“Yes, I know the whole matter. But — the whole of my 
heart was hers already, and, once given, it is given for 
good and all, with us Verneys.” 

“I blame her somewhat still for not having made things 
plain to you before.” 

“I would have helped her just the same.” 

“No doubt. Still . . . but who shall judge another? 

The greatest thing in her life has always been her devotion 
to her own people. She sacrificed herself for Darya with- 
out a moment’s hesitation. She has been very sorely treat- 
ed, and has suffered much. And it is very bitter to think 
of, for she has a heart of gold, and her life so far has been 
sorely shadowed.” 

“Please God there may be happier times in store for 
her! For myself I regret nothing — except that I cannot 
give her all the happiness that is in my heart for her.” 

“I feared how it would be with you whenever I saw you 
at St. Peter’s ” 

“And I was pluming myself on my self-suppression,” he 
said, with a smile. “For it seemed incredible to me that 
her heart should be free, and I said to myself, “I must wait 
and see.’ ” 

“She was thinking only of Darya, and she told me she 
had told you all that was necessary.” 

“So she had. She told me absolutely all I had a right 
to expect. I was just her very willing assistant, nothing 
more. The rest came after, and she was not to blame in 
any slightest way.” 

“You see,” said Madame, following her own train of 
thought, “to all my old people here she has always been 


HOPING EVER 


283 


Mademoiselle, and Mademoiselle she will remain to the end 
of the chapter. To our good Joannot and myself, who 
ought to have known better, it has felt like an ignoring of 
her unfortunate marriage, and we have kept it up. But it 
is undoubtedly misleading to outsiders.” 

“It is difficult to think of her as married. Is he still out 
in Kara?” 

“He is a monster,” said Madame, more bitterly than he 
could have imagined possible in her. “His cruelties at 
Kara were so great that even his subordinates revolted at 
them, and that says much, for the men they send out there 
are the hardest of the hard. They have moved him on to 
Yakutsk. It is banishment. The Tsar is very bitter 
against him. He will certainly never be allowed home 
again.” 

“That is so far good for Sonia. He cannot trouble her. 
But still, it is very hard on her.” 

“It is a broken life for her, poor girl,” sighed Madame. 

“I would not pass proper bounds, even in my thoughts, 
if I could help it. But it would be a dull heart that would 
not wish better things for her.” 

“Yes, indeed! She deserves the very best life can give 
her, to make up for all she has gone through — and always 
for others. She has always thought of everybody before 
herself.” 

“Rightly or wrongly, we will hope,” said Verney. “You 
will not object to my writing to her when I have to go back 
to Paris?” 

“Friends may surely write to one another. I have full- 
est faith in you, my boy. I am sure you will do what is 
right.” 

“Thank you ! I will do no more than is right. It would 
be very hard to drop out of your lives and hear nothing of 
you.” 

“That would not be possible now,” said Madame quietly. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THEY WERE CONTENT 

W ITH perfect rest, and attentions such as he had 
never been under the necessity of receiving be- 
fore, Verney’s numerous — almost innumerable — 
wounds and bruises behaved exceedingly well. 

Even Dr. Stauffer’s professional imperturbability had 
received a shock at sight of them. 

“My dear sir !” he gasped. “What on earth — Have you 
by any chance keen under a steam-roller?” 

“Not quite so bad as that, doctor. Only under a snow- 
slide, but it was mostly rocks — the bits that hit me, any- 
way.” 

“A snow-slide! And what part of the snow-slide did 
that ?” pointing to the knife-cut. 

“Ah, that was before. A dirty little beggar of an Italian 
threw his knife at me. Fortunately, it took me in the 
arm ” 

“Herr gott , yes ! An inch or two to one side and you 
would not be here. And it has been neglected, too. You 
ought to have ” 

“I know, but when one is buried for six days under ten 
or twenty feet of snow and dirt, one does what one can, 
you see, and that is not always just what one would.” 

“And your hands ! Why, there is hardly a scrap of 
skin left on them. Painful?” 

“Abominably, now you mention it. But it was no good 
saying so before. That was through falling five hundred 

284 


THEY WERE CONTENT 


285 


feet down a frozen snow slope, and being under the very 
painful necessity of climbing up it again.” 

“You seem to have had pretty lively times.” 

“Oh, I had. How soon can you patch me up?” 

“I’ll patch you up at once, but if you want to be on your 
feet again in a fortnight you will have to do exactly as I 
tell you. 

“Let me smoke, and I’ll be as good as gold,” and that 
had entailed his most complete surrender to the loving and 
arbitrary ministrations of two of the most gracious and 
tender-hearted women he had ever met, and they rejoiced 
greatly in their patient. 

On the grounds of a climbing accident and physical in- 
capacity for travel, he had no difficulty in obtaining an 
extension of his leave ; and that fortnight he spent at Un- 
terhofen, recovering from his wounds, was the happiest he 
had ever enjoyed. 

There were still bright sunny days when, with the assist- 
ance of M. Joannot’s ever- ready arm, he could limp out 
on to the terrace, and be tucked up in a chair where he 
could lie and muse on the ever-changing, unchanging won- 
ders of the Jungfrau, and the Bliimlisalp, and the Niesen. 

And many an interesting talk he had with M. Joannot, 
when he came out to take the air and rise above his profes- 
sional duties for a brief space. 

M. Joannot told him with gusto of the discomfiture of 
the pushful Sergeant Peter Wyss from Noirburg, when he 
caught up with old Barbara and himself off Scherzligen, 
and of the civilities, and otherwise, that ensued. And Ver- 
ney detailed their adventures on the road and in the hut; 
and though he never broached the more intimate matters, 
M. Joannot was no fool, and had not spent sixty-odd years 
in the study of his fellows in vain, and one time his quiet, 
“Eh bien , Monsieur, with all my heart I wish you joy!” 


28 6 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


made Verney smile, and showed that M. Joannot had a 
shrewd suspicion as to how the land lay. 

And now and again, as a special treat, the good Joan- 
not would assist him into one of the boats, and he would loll 
comfortably on the piled-up cushions in the stern, while 
Sonia pulled slowly along the shore to Gunten or Merlgen, 
and they recalled the more strenuous former times when he 
did the pulling, and there were lively doings on the lake. 

Then there were long delightful evenings under the 
shaded lamps in the small salon , when the pine-logs hissed 
and spurtled on the wide open hearth, and Sonia and Aunt 
Olga sat and worked, and Verney read to them, or dropped 
the book and they chatted together while he smoked. 

They spoke often of Darya. The thought of her could 
never be far from them as yet. The remembrance of her 
broken life tempered the gladness of the new hope that was 
in them, but the past buries its dead, and here were not 
wanting palliatives for the mitigation of their grief. 

“Sonia was telling me,” said Madame, one night when 
she and Verney were alone, “that you had doubts whether 
our poor Darya could have found safe asylum even in 
England.” 

“Yes, I had grave doubts — that is, if they had learned 
where she was, and had cared to require her of the author- 
ities. England is sanctuary for political offenders only.” 

“Then, truly, I am not sure but that sad end was after 
all the best. It seems dreadful to say so, but it would have 
killed her to be taken back to prison, and if she had come 
to learn the possibility of it her days would have been full 
of fear.” 

“Of course they might never have moved in the matter, 
even if they had learned. I don’t really see why they 
should.” 

“You don’t know Russia as well as I do, my boy. If 


THEY WERE CONTENT 


287 


Russia had heard, she would have forced them to it. She is 
implacable.” 

“There were no politics in it, though. It was purely a 
private matter.” 

“Pesthel was one of themselves. They would not forget,” 
she said bitterly; and was gravely thoughtful for a time, 
and then said soberly: “Yes, what is is best. God’s ways 
are past our understanding. She is at rest and she died 
free, and she and Sonia were together to the end. Worse 
might have befallen her . . . and as for our Sonia, 

she would have known no peace while Darya was in danger. 
What a strange coil life is !” 

“Sonia will at all events always have the satisfaction of 
feeling that we did all that could be done. The outcome 
was beyond us.” 

“As it always is, my boy. We hope, and we plan, and 
we strain ourselves to breaking-point, but God always has 
the last word. . . . And His word is the best word, 

though we do not always see it so.” 

And in all those days, though amplest opportunity was 
not lacking, neither Sonia nor he ever ventured one word 
beyond the honourable bounds they had set themselves, 
regarding that of which their hearts were full. 

In that revealing moment under the snow their hearts 
had spoken once for all. There was no more to be said — 
until it could all be said without reserve or trespass. 

And they were content. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


UKE A STAR IN THE NIGHT 

A ND so, in due course, came the inevitable last day. 
Verney’s head was whole again, his arm almost well, 
his innumerable bruises no longer troubled him un- 
duly, his foot alone still showed signs of conflict, and he 
had to ease his use of it with a stick. 

He had strolled out with Sonia for a last turn round 
the garden, and as they stood, side by side, at the end of the 
terrace, gazing at the lofty serenity of the Jungfrau, she 
said to him quietly — 

“You will come in the spring?” 

“I will come the moment I hear from old Hans.” 

“I would like to be there too.” 

“It will be very trying for you, Sonia,” he said doubt- 
fully. 

“Nevertheless I would like to be there. She was so very 
dear to me. She would like me to be there, I am sure.” 

“It shall be as you will, dear, I will come straight 
through to Thun and call for you here. What about Aunt 
Olga? Will she ” 

“I think not. We shall have to cross the mountains, 
you see. But, you and I, we were with her at the last, and 
it is meet that we should be with her again.” 

“I will send you a telegram, then, as soon as I hear from 
Herr Unger, and I ought to be with you about twelve hours 
later. Perhaps I could get the old fellow to organise a 
search before he wires me. It may be some days, you 
know, before we find what we seek.” 

“Oh, no, no ! We must be there beforehand. I cannot 
288 


LIKE A STAR IN THE NIGHT 


289 


bear the thought of strangers finding her and looking at 
her. Herr Unger is different, but any one else ” 

“I know just how you feel, and I will settle it all. And 
now — there is the steamer loosing from Gunten and I must 
go. Dearest, I pray God to have you in His keeping !” 

He bent and kissed her hand warmly, looked deep into 
her shining eyes, and went. 

She waved to him from the upper terrace, as the steamer 
loosed from the pier, and then he was left with only his 
happy memories of her. 

And all through his journey he was solitary and silent, 
for no stranger must meddle with this new and exceeding 
great joy of his. 

He lived again through every one of those thirty odd 
wonderful days, as his train rumbled along to Berne, to 
Neuchatel, through the Jura, across the long plains of 
France; and every vision of her which his memory conjured 
up seemed to him brighter than the last. 

He saw her again like a summer storm, thunder and 
lightning and heavy rain, as she flashed out on him from 
behind the big beech on St. Peter’s-insel. 

He saw her again like a radiant star, in the glamour of 
the roses and the shaded lights at supper that same night ; 
and then like a modest clouded moon in the boat on the lake. 

Then she was the slim spirited boy, yodelling exultantly 
along the hillsides because her purpose was accomplished, 
and Darya was free — but, withal — and he smiled at the 
remembrance — much concerned for the friendly shelter of 
her cloak and the proper donning of her unaccustomed 
garments. 

Her brief eclipse, while Darya lay recruiting at Unter- 
hofen, served only to heighten the rare delights of their 
later days together there. 

But chiefly he enjoyed the thought of her in old Hans 
Unger’s hut on the side of Tschingellochtighorn, and — 


290 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


greatest joy of all — the deep-cut recollection of that su- 
preme moment when, in the shadow of death, the veils fell 
from them, and their hearts were bared to one another as 
hearts will be at the Judgment Day. 

Truly his had been a strange wooing, and the end of it 
was still hid from them. But not to many, he thought, did 
it fall to know and be known to one another as they two 
had been made known, by circumstances so trying and 
overpowering. 

And his fellow-travellers, wondered at the taciturnity of 
this tall young man in the big fur coat — which, in spite 
of the fact that his head was higher in the clouds than ever 
the Jungfrau’s was, he had had the common sense to buy 
at Berne — who politely declined all attempts to draw him 
into conversation, though he obviously spoke both French 
and German like a native; who smoked cigars of price all 
night long and did not care to sleep; and who seemed to 
have ample food for thought, and of the highest quality. 
For his eyes shone out on the night like lamps, as though 
he saw things outside there in the darkness which none had 
ever seen before; and now and again, without any visible 
reason, little smiles lurked in the corners of his mouth, as 
though the wild gorges of the Jura held for him sweet 
humours which the rest of the world had never yet 
discovered. 

And their sleepy surmises hit the mark, for the train as 
it clanked through the heights and depths sang, “Sonia! 
Sonia ! Sonia !” and out there on the darkness the sweetest 
face in the world looked in on him with love and faith and 
hope shining tenderly in its eyes. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


“XOMME !” 

O N the eighteenth of April — six months to a day al- 
most after he parted from Sonia — Verney received 
Herr Unger’s brief telegram “ Komme ” and seven 
hours later he was stamping impatiently about the plat- 
form of Pontarlier station, watching the sun rise over the 
frowning portals of Switzerland, and munching a stout 
sandwich-roll, which he had washed down in advance with 
a cup of hot coffee in the buffet, and doing his best to 
quicken his own vitality and that of the deliberate officials, 
who had evidently no idea that Sonia was waiting ex- 
pectantly for him over the hills there on the shore of the 
Thuner See. 

It was after mid-day before the slowest trains and steam- 
er it had ever been his fate to travel on landed him on the 
well-known pier, where M. Joannot, in all the dignity of 
his best clothes, was awaiting him. 

“All well, M. Joannot?” 

“All very well, Monsieur — anxious only to set eyes on 
you again. I will see to everything if Monsieur will go on.” 

And two minutes later he had bent over Sonia’s hand 
once more, and his heart was beating high at the sight of 
her flushed face and shining eyes. 

Madame’s welcome was motherly in its warmth, but the 
business he had come upon was such as tuned them all to 
soberness. 

“Will you not rest the night, after your long journey?” 
she asked. 

“Herr Unger will be waiting for us at Artelen, at ten 
o’clock to-morrow morning, and we must not disappoint 
him, dear Madame. I thought we might pull across to 


291 


292 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


Spiez, and if M. Joannot could come with us he could 
bring back the boat. We can be at Adelboden this evening, 
and at Artelen early to-morrow.” 

And Sonia’s face showed him that he had done well. 

In spite of the sadness of the errand on which they were 
bound, it was a mighty joy to him to be rowing Sonia across 
Thuner See once more, with the Jungfrau and the Niesen 
smiling down upon them, and Stockhorn sprawling his lazy 
bulk along the western shore, and the wooded heights be- 
hind the Chateau all waving hearty welcomes. 

And Sonia, in spite of her gravity and her sombre dress, 
was visibly happy and content at heart, and her eyes told 
him more than her letters had ever dared to do. If the 
good Joannot had not been there he would have shouted 
aloud for very joy at sight of her. 

M. Joannot bade them a quiet, “Adieu and au revoir. 
Mademoiselle and Monsieur !” at the boat-landing at Spiez, 
and pulled away, murmuring to himself, “Though what to 
wish you in your search, mon Dieu, I know not.” 

So once more they were rolling along the Engstligen 
Thai, and the sight of the cattle-shed brought the former 
days vividly back to them again. But if the Black-faced 
Three had met them on the road, it would have taken more 
than all their southern acumen now to recognise one of 
their vanquishers in the sweet-faced girl who, nestling in 
her furs against the bite of the April wind, lived those past 
days over again, and watched the remembered scenes flit by 
with sorrowful pensive eyes. 

At sight of her companion, however, their heads would 
assuredly have tingled, for he looked just as fit and strong 
as he did the day he broke them, and readier than ever to 
do it again if necessity should arise. 

They did not talk much on that journey. Their hearts 
were in tune, and a touch on the arm, and a glance this 


“KOMME !” 


293 


way or that, told all that was in them more eloquently than 
words. 

The landlord of the Post rejoiced at sight of them, but 
subdued himself and behaved with most exemplary decorum 
after a word or two of explanation from Verney. 

To Verney it was akin to translation to a higher 
sphere to find himself sitting opposite Sonia again at sup- 
per, and he would have sat long afterwards, but she was 
thoughtful of his night journey, and decreed an early re- 
tirement, in view of their early start next day. 

Eight o’clock found them climbing past 1m Boden, in 
all the vivifying glory of a fresh April morning, and never 
had young sun shone so brightly, nor meadows gleamed so 
freshly green, nor snow-capped mountains glistened so like 
frosted silver. All the world was young, and all abrim 
with life, and their hearts were young, and the joy of life 
was strong in them, and they were going in sorrowful love 
in search of their dead. 

They stopped for a short rest at Wildeschwand, to the 
vast delight of the landlord of the inn and his wife, and 
before the time appointed they were at Artelen, and found 
old Hans Unger awaiting them there. 

He welcomed them soberly, but could not conceal his 
satisfaction at seeing them again. He had spared no 
trouble in his arrangements for their comfort. 

“My new house is building on the new road to the Engst- 
ligenalp, Herr,” he said to Verney, as they two sat on the 
bench outside smoking, “but till it is ready, I am living in 
the old one which you know so well. The old path is still 
blocked, but I have cut a safe enough way to it, and I have 
had it all cleaned up for you, in case you find it necessary 
to stay a day or two. And this time you will not need to 
live on potatoes and sardines, I assure you.” 

“That is very good of you, Herr Unger, and truly meet- 


294 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


ing you again is like meeting a dear old friend,” said Vcr- 
ney heartily. 

“I could wish no better than that, Herr. Sad am I that 
you come upon so sorrowful a business. But the Fraulein 
does my old eyes good to look upon. She is wonderful ! 
And to think that she lived in my old hut !” 

“You have discovered nothing yet?” asked Verney 
quietly. 

“Nothing, Herr, though I have never failed to keep a 
look-out. It may be that with all our searching we shall 
find nothing, you know. The snow brings down much 
earth and stones at times, and in places they pile very 
deep.” 

“Better if it were so, perhaps. But Mademoiselle would 
know no peace unless she knew. And from that point of 
view it is better that we should find what we seek, and lay 
it reverently to rest.” 

So, presently, they were pacing the side of Tschingel- 
lochtighorn once more, and their hearts went back to that 
former time when, so full of confidence and hope, they were 
convoying Darya to — freedom. 

The first sight of the vast sweep of the slope set Sonia’s 
heart throbbing painfully. Through the ragged rem- 
nants of its royal white robes the cruel might of the moun- 
tain thrust itself harshly into view. The huge scarred 
limbs of it, black and seared and pitted, sprawled down into 
the valley as though reaching out hungrily after prey. 
The long swathes of fading snow, which still lay here and 
there, bristled with venomous black rocks, the rough warted 
hide of the sleeping giant. To Sonia, Tschingellochtig- 
horn looked like a treacherous crouching monster, instinct 
with murder and sudden death, sullenly endeavouring to 
hide its deformities under a tattered garment of innocence. 

It made her shiver in spite of the white young sun, and 


“KOMME !” 


295 


when she glanced askance into the depths, her eyes were 
full of fearful expectancy. 

Somewhere down there Darya was lying, wan and broken. 

But only the poor outer husk, her heart protested. 

Darya herself — all that they had loved, except that mere 
circumstance of bodily form — was emancipate and free, 
and safe for ever from earth’s sorrows and the cruelties of 
man. 

Ah yes ! But, after all, it was the gracious and beauti- 
ful young bodily form that had been known to them best 
and loved by them, and it was terrible to think of it lying 
there, bruised and broken, among those terrible rocks. 

Herr Unger led them by a new path, worn by his feet 
on top of the debris under which lay the old one, till they 
came to a hole and a flight of roughly-fashioned steps, 
which led down to the door of the hut. 

And, at sound of them outside, there came a hopeful 
bleat within, and as soon as the door opened, their old 
friend Billy rushed at them, feinting furiously with his 
growing horns and testifying his delight in every kiddish 
way he could think of. 

“Dear little Billy !” said Sonia, and endeavoured in vain 
to caress him. 

“I knew you would like to see him again, since he was of 
your party,” said old Hans hospitably. 

“Yes, indeed. Billy stood it better than any of us. . . . 

“How strange it is to find oneself here again !” said 
Sonia. 

“I have been here many times since then,” said Verncy 
with a smile. 

“So have I.” 

“I know,” he nodded, “I have met you here.” 

And Herr Unger looked from one to the other in much 
wonder, and his lips were parted to speak ; and then under- 


296 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


standing was vouchsafed him, and he nodded sagely and 
said “ Ach , so !” 

Everything looked very much as it had done, except 
that he had enlarged the gap outside the window so that 
one could sit there and look down into the valley. And 
everything was very spick and span, and the old man 
opened one of the cupboard doors and showed them, with 
innocent pride in his own forethought, the store of good 
things he had laid in for them. 

“You will not starve this time,” he said confidently. 

“Starve?” said Verney. “I never lived so well in all my 
life,” and again the old man looked at him with the glim- 
mer of doubtful wonder in his eyes, and then said — 

“You had the best of all sauces, Herr,” and laughed 
quietly at his own wit. 

Sonia went over to the window and glanced somewhat 
shrinkingly down into the sunlit valley. Herr Unger ap- 
plied a match to the stove, and Verney, prowling about and 
renewing his acquaintance with things, wandered into the 
woodshed. 

He found the stove-pipe properly reinstated, otherwise 
everything much as before, but in one corner was something 
new, and he was standing looking at it when Herr Unger 
came in for more wood. 

“I thought it well to have it ready, in case — you un- 
derstand,” said the old man, in a whisper, and he opened 
it slightly and displayed a roughly-made stretcher, in 
which was rolled a clean white sheet. “But we will cover it 
up lest the Fraulein should come upon it.” He buried it 
under the hay, and Verney went soberly back into the 
front room. 

“Do you mind resting here for a little while, Sonia, while 
Herr Unger and I go up and decide some points connected 
with our search?” he asked gently. 

She nodded, without looking up, and he thought she was 


“KOMME !” 


297 

weeping. He beckoned to Herr Unger, and they went 
quietly away up the steps. 

They went back some thirty yards or so, and then Ver- 
ney stopped and said — 

“As far as I can judge, we must have been about here 
when the snow came down on us. Now what is that?” and 
he pointed to a slight depression which seemed to run down 
the mountain-side to where they stood — a mere sinking-in 
of the rough stony surface of the slope. 

“There was a gully there, and a stream.” 

“And a cleft in the wall of the path on this side?” asked 
Vemey quickly. 

“Yes, Herr, a cleft, and if you will look over the other 
side you will see that it runs right down to the valley,” 
and following the old man’s pointing finger he could make 
out the wrinkle in the mountain’s skin, by the strip of fad- 
ing snow which lay all the way along the unsunned side of 
it. 

“That, I think, is where we shall find her,” said Verney 
quietly. “For the snow and rubble shot out upon her 
through just such a cleft, and it must have been about 
here.” 

“Then, Herr, it is doubtful, I fear, if we shall ever find 
her, for down below there, that gully was ten, fifteen, in 
places twenty feet deep, and now, you see, it is only just 
to be seen.” 

“It is there we must search, however.” 

“We will search carefully, Herr, but ” and he shook 

his head unhopefully. 

“How do we get down to the lower slope?” 

“This way, Herr,” and he led him a short way back 
along the path. “I have cut a sloping way down here, and, 
once below, it is no longer difficult.” 

It was rough walking, and needed caution to avoid roll- 
ing stones and broken ankles, but the snow lay only here 


298 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


and there in the hollows, and it was withered and harmless. 

They made their way along the slope to the long white 
streak, and as Verney stood there, looking up towards the 
path, and endeavouring to judge how far a body launched 
from it would fall, his eye was drawn along to the hut by 
the sight of Sonia leaning out of the window and watching 
him intently. 

He waved his hand to her, but she only nodded, and 
watched him, her face and eyes eloquent with anxious in- 
quiry. 

“Where do you think, Herr Unger?” he asked quietly. 
“The snow caught her full, with tremendous force, and 
sAvept her right down here. Now where would she be likely 
to fall?” 

“ Herr gott , it is hard to say, Herr. It might be right 
under the path. It might be well out here. And r wherever 
it was, all that followed might carry her further down, or 
it might only bury her the deeper.” 

“Then all we can do is to follow this depression from 
right below the path, and examine it carefully until we 
have got quite beyond the range of possibilities. And that, 
I can see, will take time, so the sooner we start the better.” 

“A couple of poles will help us. I will get them. Ach — 
Herr ! — the Fraulein !” and here was Sonia picking her 
way to them along the rough slope, with Billy skipping 
nimbly at her heels. And Verney wished she had not come 
down, for if they found what they sought it might be too 
pitiful for the eyes of love to look upon. 

“I could not sit there doing nothing,” she said, antici- 
pating his feeling in the matter. 

“For your own sake, dear, I would sooner you were up 
there. You understand?” 

“I understand, and I will go when you tell me to. But 
let me help as far as I can.” 

“Very well. But I’m afraid it is going to take longer 


“KOMME !” 


299 


than we thought. And you must be prepared for failure. 
We think this the most likely place. The snow shot down 
through a cleft in the wall up there, and this is the line of 
its fall. It was a gully ten to twenty feet deep, and now, 
you see, it is almost filled with what the snow brought down. 
What we seek may be buried below it all.” 

“If we could only be sure even of that ! What I cannot 
bear to think of is her being found by strangers, and stared 
at and wondered at ” 

“I know, dear. We will do our best.” 

Old Hans, judging rightly that the Fraulein was in the 
habit of having her own way, had thoughtfully brought 
three light pine poles, and they began their search. 

Verney and old Hans started right below the path, prob- 
ing among the fallen stones and boulders, and penetrating 
the depths as far as was possible. Sonia wandered along 
the side of the gully, peering down fearfully, lest that which 
she desired, but dreaded, should somewhere be lying ex- 
posed, waiting for the keen eye of love to discover it; and 
Billy skipped after her and peered down eagerly whenever 
she did. 

“Go very cautiously, Sonia,” cried Verney, understand- 
ing her motive for this quick look round. 

She waved her pole and went on down the slope. 

In places, where the larger boulders piled roughty one 
on top of another, they could see well down into the depths 
where glimmering waters ran ; but in other places the flow 
of rubble had packed tight and filled the gully to the brim. 
Anything that might be underneath it was buried for ever. 

The sun passed behind the mountains at last, and the 
light dimmed at once, and Herr Unger straightened up 
and said, “We can do no more to-day, Herr. In the morn- 
ing light we shall see better.” So Verney w^ent down after 
Sonia and Billy, and they all returned to the hut. 

Herr Unger’s forethought provided them with an ade- 


300 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


quate meal. The faring, if simple, was excellent, and the 
mountain air had given them appetites. 

In the shadow of her melancholy errand, Sonia was silent 
and pensive. When the men sat smoking after supper, she 
sat thoughtfully by the stove, with her fingers intertwined 
in her lap. And her thoughts ran inevitably to the past, 
and the sadness and the joy of it were visible in her. 

“And you really never got so weary of yourself here 
that you had to get away down into the valleys for the 
sight and sound of somebody else, Herr Unger?” asked 
Verney, to relieve the tension of a long silence. 

“Never, Herr!” and the old face lit up with a kindly 
glow of superior knowledge. “I had my goats, you see, 
and my books, and The Book, and my zither, and then there 
were the passers-by. Oh, no, loneliness and I never got on 
together, I assure you. Then I used to carve little things 
in wood — not that I needed the money, but it was good to 
be occupied.” 

“I wonder if you would play something for us on your 
zither ?” 

“Would the Fraulein like it?” 

“Oh, I would, Herr Unger. Please do !” 

And he got out the zither from its case, and keyed it up, 
and recharged his big pipe, and played for them sweet 
plaintive songs which had, in the tremulous softness of 
their airs and the complicated cadences of their deep-roll- 
ing bass chords, something of the wonder and mystery and 
uplift of the mountain-tops. 

It was a marvel to Verney that hands so old and worn 
and rough could produce music so exquisite. But old 
Hans played with his heart, and that was high-tuned to the 
wonders and beauties among which his life had been spent. 
The worn old hands went wandering on over the singing 
strings, almost unconsciously it seemed, and melody of 
marvellous sweetness followed their every touch. 


“KOMME !” 


301 


“But I shall tire you,” he said, his fingers still lingering 
lovingly among the chords. 

“Oh, no, no,” said Sonia earnestly. “It does me good. 
Do please go on,” and the old man played on delightedly, 
while Verney rejoiced that her thoughts should be lifted 
out of the shadows. 

Now and again that strange sweet music, partly learned 
but largely improvised, touched gently on sorrow and loss 
— so gently and tenderly that Sonia’s eyes brimmed with 
tears; and then it sang the more meaningly of hope and 
joy, and the triumph of that which lives over that which 
dies. Sonia had heard the zither often enough, but she had 
never heard old Hans Unger play it before. 

When at last his big pipe was smoked out, and he stop- 
ped, she said, “Oh, Herr Unger, I do not know how to 
thank you.” 

A younger man, and a smaller man, might have said, 
“It is nothing,” though consciously esteeming it much. 
Old Hans just smiled happily at her and said simply, “I 
too, love it dearly, Fraulein.” 

“Where did you learn to play so wonderfully, Herr Un- 
ger?” asked Verney. 

“My father was a greater player. This was his,” pluck- 
ing the strings softly like a caress. “He taught me when 
I was so high, before my fingers could compass the chords 
properly. I suppose it is born in one to some extent. And 
then — I love it.” 

Sonia went off to bed early, with the sweet wild strains 
still singing in her heart of hope and faith and love and all 
high things, and Verney’s kiss still warm on her hand. 

“She is wunderschone, the Fraulein,” said Herr Unger 
appreciatively. “You marry, Herr?” 

“Please God, when the time comes !” 

“She is worth waiting for,” said Herr Unger, with con- 
viction. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


GRAINS OF DUST 

were up and out in good time next morning, to 
take advantage of the early sun. For, as the rift 
faced east, it was only then that the full light fell 
on it. All the rest of the day more or less of shadow lurk- 
ed under the southern edge. 

All day long, with intent and sober faces, they worked 
downwards from the base of the path-wall, scanning with 
anxious trepidation everything that seemed incongruous 
in the hollows and crannies of the tumbled rocks. 

More than once Vemey’s heart gave a painful kick, as 
something lighter coloured than its surroundings met his 
straining gaze. But always it turned out something dif- 
ferent from what they sought, something quite ordinary 
and accountable for upon investigation, — here a lump of 
white rock, there the white glimmer of water or a patch of 
lingering snow. 

Sonia’s quick, all-round, preliminary search having as- 
sured her that nothing was obviously visible, she now kept 
close to Verney, bending anxiously when he bent, and 
scrutinising with him everything that caught his attention. 

But after their mid-day meal their progress was slower, 
and the shadows under the southern edge of the rift made 
it difficult at times to make out what really lay below. 

And suddenly, the sun was eclipsed; and, straightening 
up, they found the sky dark with rolling clouds whose com- 
ing they had been too busy to notice, and the valley below 
had sunk almost out of sight in a thin wan twilight. 

302 


GRAINS OF DUST 


303 


“Here is thunder, Herr. We had better get inside,” 
said Herr Unger, and reluctantly they climbed the wind- 
ing way to the hut. 

It was after supper, however, before the storm broke 
over them, and neither Sonia nor Vemey had ever in their 
lives heard the like. 

They were sitting round the stove, the two men smoking, 
all three waiting expectantly, when the darkness outside 
blazed with a sudden blinding glare, and the terrific crack 
and crash which followed on the instant shook Tschingel- 
lochtighorn to his base, and startled Sonia and Billy to 
their feet. So appalling was it, so majestically overpower- 
ing and infinitely crushing, that she felt herself no more 
than a grain of dust between the upper millstone of the 
angry heavens and the nether stone of the shuddering 
earth. 

“Oh!” she gasped, with her hand to her heart; and Ver- 
ney put his arm round her and drew her quivering to the 
seat at his side, while little Billy, after one startled look 
round, lay down again and went to sleep, and took no fur- 
ther interest in the matter. 

“It is very near,” said Herr Unger calmly, when at 
length the awful j arring reverberations died solemnly away 
among the distant peaks. 

“I thought it would never end,” gasped Sonia with relief. 

“That was only the echoes,” said Herr Unger. “You 
hear them well up here. But it is only the first peal that 
counts.” 

“It sounded as if those terrible clouds had all become 
hollow ice and were all tumbling over one another and com- 
ing down on us.” 

Then the lightning blazed again, and once more the 
mountain shook as the heavens crackled and bellowed with 
the awful uproar, and Sonia clung to Verney’s arm as if 
there alone lay safety. 


304 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“How awful!” she whispered. 

And Herr Unger reached out his arm and took down 
his zither, and began to play softly. 

Again and again the lightning blazed and the thunder 
rattled and roared, and in between the crashes and their 
dreadful echoes, the sweet voice of the zither sang softly of 
hope and faith and love. Till at last the thunder passed, 
and only the voice of the zither was heard. 

“It has gone on towards the Matterhorn and Monte 
Rosa,” said Herr Unger. 

“I never heard thunder like that before,” said Verney. 

“ Och , I have heard it worse than that, and I have seen 
it strike the mountains, and blast great pieces out, and 
send them flying like the splinters when I chop wood.” 

“How awful! I would be afraid to live up here,” said 
Sonia. 

“It is as safe here as elsewhere, Fraulein, only one hears 
more of the noise. When one’s time comes, one goes, no 
matter where one happens to be.” 

He played them into tranquil minds again, and when 
Sonia bade them good-night, she thanked him very prettily, 
and said, “It was almost worth having the thunder to hear 
you charm it away, Herr Unger. But I do hope it will 
not come back.” 

“It may, Fraulein. You can still hear it over there.” 

And it did, and more appallingly even than before. 

She had fallen asleep quickly, for the nervous strain 
had tired her out, but she was shaken more than awake, 
shaken into a paroxysm of most dreadful fear, by a crash 
so terrific and so close above her hear, that she sprang up 
with a cry of anguish, under the belief that the end had 
come. 

A knocking on the door, and Verney’s voice, were like 
sounds of heavenly reprieval. 

“Are you frightened, Sonia?” he asked. 


GRAINS OF DUST 


305 


“Terribly! Terribly!” she cried. 

“Put something on and come out here,” and she was out 
in a moment, wrapped in her long coat, and almost fell 
into his arms. 

“How dreadful” as the heavens above them seemed 
crashing down into ruin on top of them. 

“That was very close,” said Herr Unger quietly. “But 
it is past, and to-morrow will be fine.” 

“I could not stand much of this,” said Sonia with a 
shiver. “It would get on my nerves and break me in 
pieces.” 

“That last crack was certainly appalling. How very 
small it makes one feel !” said Yerney. 

“Small? — less than nothing!” 

Herr Unger crammed the stove with pine-knots and 
opened the door, so that the friendly blaze filled the room. 
And presently he took down the coffee-pot and filled three 
cups, and got out a bottle of Kirsch, saying, “It will do us 
good after all that noise,” and he and Verney charged 
their pipes and Sonia begged a cigarette. 

“If ever my nerves needed soothing they do just now,” 
she said. “But I have hardly smoked at all since we were 
here before.” 


V 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

THAT WHICH THEY SOUGHT 

A S Herr Unger had predicted in the storm, the next 
morning was brilliantly fine. 

“If — nothing to-day, I think we must give it up 
and go home,” said Sonia a little wearily, after the terrors 
of the night, as they went up the rough steps to the path. 

“It shall be as you think best, dear. We have done 
what we could.” 

“You have been very good to fall in so with my 
wishes ” 

“I feel just as you do in the matter, but, truly, if we 
cannot find what we seek, no one else is likely to do so, I 
think.” 

Herr Unger was waiting for them up above. 

“See, Fraulein !” he said, very gravely, and pointed to a 
new raw wound in the slope below. 

“It has never come quite so close to me as that, but, by 
God’s mercy, it just missed us.” 

“It struck there?” asked Verney in an awed voice, while 
Sonia shivered in spite of the clear white sunshine and 
safety. For the gash riven in the mountain’s side by the 
lightning had cleft the gully they had been searching so 
carefully, at an acute angle, and had bared it to the bone. 

The clean-cut sides of the new cleavage glinted in the 
morning sun with a peculiar metallic iridescence, but what 
struck them most at the moment was the fact that the cut- 
ting of the gully had diverted the course of the stream 

306 



THAT WHICH THEY SOUGHT 


307 


which they had heard running deep under the rocks below. 
It now came gushing out of the cut in the northern bank, 
and was making for itself a new way to the valley below. 

When they got down to the gash Yerney vowed it still 
smelt sulphurous. But Herr Unger stood looking from it 
to his hut, and then raised his old hat very gravely and 
said: “We were nearer death than we knew, last night, 
Fraulein and Herr. That is how it came” — with a sweep 
of the hand from the hut to the gash — “you see by the lie 
of it. It skimmed my house by a hand’s-breadth, and 
struck here.” 

“Let us get back home,” said Sonia, with another shiver. 

“There is no lightning about just now, any way,” said 
Vemey. “And I would like to see if the diversion of the 
stream has done anything for us. You sit down here in 
the sun, dear, or would you sooner come with me ?” 

“I will sit here, but I am quite ready to go home now. 
We have done all we can,” and she sank down on a boulder, 
with the stress of the night very plainly upon her. 

Verney and Herr Unger crossed the gully above the new 
cleft, and went down the other side, peering into the newly- 
disclosed depths, and she watched them listlessly. 

They had done all they could, and it was certain there 
was nothing to be found, and she felt worn and tired. She 
would be glad to be back at Unterhofen once more. 

Below her the valley shimmered in a sleepy haze. The 
opposite slope, with its dark pine woods streaming down 
in points like the fringes of a ragged mantle, looked very 
far away. The snowy peaks behind stood calm and serene 
against the clear blue sky. 

Everything was heavenly sweet and beautiful, and but 
an hour or two ago that awful storm was raging, and the 
brand that made that hideous cleft down there had missed 
them by no more than a hand’s-breadth. 

Yerney came quickly up the slope. 


308 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“I want something from the hut,” he said, and passed 
on up the winding path. 

He was back in a couple of minutes with Herr Unger’s 
little mirror out of her sleeping-room. 

“Whatever are you going to do with that?” she asked. 

“Trap the sunbeams and turn them to account,” and 
he went down to Herr Unger, and she saw them using the 
mirror to deflect the sun’s rays into the depths below. 

They went slowly on and on along the left bank of the 
gully, flicking the light into the hidden depths, bending 
and peering intently at times and then moving slowly on 
again. And there came into her mind the incongruous 
idea that they were heliographing messages, and asking 
questions of Darya, lying hidden somewhere in among the 
black stones there. 

The quick broken flashes hypnotised her as she watched. 
She almost feel asleep. Even when the two men stopped 
for a longer time than usual in one place, and then 
straightened up and looked at one another, it made no 
great impression on her. She only wondered dreamily 
what they doing, and how much longer they would be. 

Then they both came up towards her, and Verney took 
her arm under his, saying very gravely — 

“Let me take you to the house, Sonia dear.” 

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly very wide awake. 

“Have you ” 

“Yes.” 

She looked, eagerly, fearfully, at the place they had come 
from, her heart fluttering like a prisoned bird. 

“May I not ” 

“No, dear!” he said hastily, and added firmly, “For 
your own sake,” and tightened his grip on her arm and led 
her away. 

“You are sure?” was all she whispered, as they went. 

“Quite sure, dear.” 


THAT WHICH THEY SOUGHT 


309 


And presently, while she sat by the window with her 
head in her arms, but lifting it now and again almost 
against her will, Verney and Herr Unger went down the 
slope again, carrying the stretcher and a pick and spade, 
and she heard them at work down there, but now no longer 
dared to look, for dread of what she might see. 

It seemed a long time before they came in. She had 
heard the ring and scrape of the tools on the rocks, and an 
occasional short word from the men, as they hauled and 
prised, and it seemed to her as if the dreadful sound would 
never end. 

But she heard their feet go tramp, tramp, up the slope 
at last, with the heavy tread of those who carry the dead. 

When they had washed their hands in the shed, Verney 
came to her. 

“We think it best to go on at once, Sonia,” and her 
quick up-glance showed her face white and tight-set. u Do 
you think you can manage the walk, dear?” 

“Yes, yes ! I am all right. I can manage it,” and she 
shot up at once. 

Herr Unger, with an equally grave face, was rapidly 
setting his little house in order. Then he picked up the 
kid and a heavy cloak, and with a meaning look at Verney, 
said, — 

“You will lock the door after you, Herr,” and went on 
in front. 

When Verney and Sonia climbed up to the path, they 
found him and Billy standing, a little way further on, by 
the side of the stretcher, over which his cloak was carefully 
draped. 

At sight of it, knowing what was below, Sonia caught 
her breath with a sob, and the tears ran unheeded down her 
cheeks. 

A black wave of sorrow surged over her. It was all so 
pitiful. 


310 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


The last time they three travelled this path they were 
all so full of hope. The great undertaking had seemed 
crowned with success, their troubles were almost over, 
Darya was rejoicing in her freedom and her new hopes in 
life, and she herself was happier than ever she had been 
since Darya was taken from her. 

And then, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, every- 
thing was changed. 

And now — 

It was as sad a little procession as ever trod that path 
down Tschingellochtighom — Herr Unger and Verney 
bore the stretcher with its light burden between them, Sonia 
walked behind. Little Billy alone showed no signs of de- 
pression, or of anything but extremest joy of life. He 
trotted to and fro incessantly, the light-hearted marshal 
of the lugubrious little cortege, and jarred Sonia’s nerves 
at times by whisking past her and standing in obviously 
precarious attitudes on the extreme edge of the path. 

The sun shone gaily, the sky was blue without a cloud, 
the soaring white peaks were heavenly fair to look upon. 

But of the three, Herr Unger was the only one to whom 
these things spoke that day. Death was no stranger to 
him. He had met him in many forms, had looked into his 
grim eyes many times. He had no fear of him. And these 
two strangers, whom he held in such high esteem, had ac- 
complished that for which they came, and so for their 
sakes he was glad. 

But Verney, being rear-bearer, and having seen what 
the stretcher held, and having had but small acquaintance 
with Death, could think of nothing else, could only with 
an effort keep his eyes off it. Poor little Darya! Poor, 
poor child ! 

And Sonia saw nothing but the path swimming mistily 
below her, and Billy’s upsetting diversions, and always Ver- 
ney’s broad shoulders, pushing steadily on in front and 


THAT WHICH THEY SOUGHT 


311 


knew that she must keep up with them, though the one 
thing she wanted to do at the moment was to stretch her- 
self on a bed and weep till her sorrow was spent. 

She knew it was weak; she knew that this pitiful thing 
in front was not Darya; she knew that her dear one was 
safe above all life’s griefs and fears, as she might never 
have been if she had lived; but all the same she wanted to 
lie down and weep, and that swimming mountain-path 
seemed as if it had no end. She walked on and on as in a 
nightmare, and knew that she would walk that dreadful 
path in her dreams for many a night to come. 

But they came at last to Artelen, and rested there for 
a time, while Herr Unger found another bearer to take 
Vemey’s place. 

When they set out again Verney silently placed her arm 
in his, and the strength and comfort of it were like new 
life to her. 

His heart had ached for her over every foot of that 
gruesome journey, but he had had his work to do, and he 
could not comfort her over his shoulder. And, moreover, 
it seemed to him that she would prefer being alone with her 
sorrow for a time. 

They walked on for a very long time without speaking, 
and he could feel how the journey was trying her. 

“Lean more on me, dear,” he urged at last. “I am sure 
you are tired out. It has been very trying for you.” 

“I have been leaning on you since the first day we met,” 
she said, with a sad little humour. 

“And I have been glad to be leant on.” 

“You have been very, very good to me.” 

“And what do you think you have been to me?” 

“Always a burden, still a burden,” she said, with a sigh 
of weariness. 

“We both know better than that,” and the pressure of 
his arm upon hers was very comforting to her. 


312 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


“Can you . . . tell me anything. . she asked pres- 
ently, and he knew what was in her mind. 

“Herr Unger has had much experience. He says she 
could not have suffered at all. The first blow killed her.” 

“Thank God for that !” she said, with a little sob. “He 
is quite sure ?” 

“He is quite sure.” 

And after a time she said, “I have thought and thought, 
and I cannot see that we were to blame in the matter.” 

“To blame, dear? Surely not. No one was to blame. 
We were doing our best for her as we saw it. God saw bet- 
ter still. . . We will lay her to rest in that quiet place 
at Adelboden, and then your heart will be at peace con- 
cerning her.” 

And that, next day, they did, with no intrusion on the 
privacy of their sorrow on the part of the authorities, but 
only utmost sympathy and assistance, and by the evening 
they were back at Unterhofen. 

Verney spent two days with them at the Chateau, rest- 
ful days packed full of happiness, and rejoiced to know 
that this sombre journey, if it had borne somewhat heavily 
upon her, had still set Sonia’s mind at rest. 

The past had buried its dead, and for the future they 
could wait and trust. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


“come SONIA !” 

V ERNEY had hardly settled down again to the easy 
routine of his work in Paris, when a hurried sum- 
mons carried him to London to the death-bed of his 
uncle, Lord Mount-Severne, to whose title and estates he 
succeeded. 

Diplomacy, however, was his chosen profession, and he 
had no intention of relinquishing it. Within a fortnight 
he was back in Paris, anxious chiefly for the swift passage 
of the months that intervened between him and St. Peter’s- 
insel, where he was to join Madame di Garda and Sonia 
in September. 

They corresponded regularly, but there was never a word 
in the letters which passed the limits imposed on them by 
the circumstances of the case, or which might not have 
been published to the world without reproach. 

As August dragged slowly on, he grew restless, and 
found the heavy hot days longer than ever they had been 
before. 

When September was fairly in, he counted the hours till 
he could set eyes once more on the green Bieler See, and 
that soft round cushion of a fairy isle which had wrought 
such a change in his life. 

He would have liked to carry with him presents for 
Sonia which, in their number and costliness, should in some 
sort express the feeling that was in him. But he would 
not, though it was hard to deny himself ; and at times he 
came to doubt if he was not carrying his quixotic feeling in 
the matter to quite unnecessary lengths. 

313 


314 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


He had, however, set his own bounds according to his 
conscience, and he kept himself rigidly within them. He 
would take her himself, and all the warmth of his whole 
heart’s love and devotion, and he thought she would un- 
derstand. 

They were in one of Life’s difficult impasses. Cruel 
Circumstance had scrawled “No Thoroughfare” across 
their path. They must, and would, bear themselves accord- 
ingly. 

He was to leave on the fifteenth, and was all ready the 
day before — more than ready, aching to board the P.L.M. 
express and feel himself really en route for Sonia. 

His train left at ten. Five o’clock next morning would 
land him at Pontarlier. By eight he would be at Neu- 
chatel, and in deliciously sleepy little Neuveville soon after 
nine; and, if the J ean-J deques Rousseau was too lazy to 
start just then, he would hire a boat, and a man to bring it 
back, and pull himself across. He could almost hear the 
joyous squeak of the oars on their pins, and feel the leap 
of the clumsy boat, as he drove it beyond its wildest record 
across the smooth green lake to Sonia. 

Where would he find her, he wondered. Waiting for 
him at the landing-place? — or more modestly at the old 
red house? — or, most delightfully of all, behind the big 
beech-tree on the hill, from which she had sprung so amaz- 
ingly into his life, just twelve months before? 

Well, no matter where, he knew he would find her un- 
changed except for the better — quieter in her mind than 
she had been then, and happier in every way. 

So anxious was he to feel really en route , that he found 
himself at the Gare de Lyon soon after eight o’clock, and 
laughed at himself as he tramped impatiently to and fro, 
and would have given the easy-going officials a hand in 
hastening matters if that had been practicable. 

It was still a considerable time before the train would 


“COME— SONIA!” 


315 


start when, to his surprise, he saw one of the Embassy 
messengers on the platform peering into carriage after 
carriage in evident search of some one. Possibly him- 
self, and his heart gave an impatient kick at the thought 
that some abominable diplomatic complication might have 
developed itself for the sole hideous purpose of postponing 
his meeting with Sonia. 

He must know, however. If duty called, even Sonia 
must wait. He would have to wire her at St. Peter’s, and 
the fat boy in the slow old boat would take it stolidly across 
to her from Ligerz, and the hope in her face would be 
shadowed, but she would give the fat boy a franc for him- 
self all the same, and then she would begin immediately to 
hope again. 

“Hello, Armstrong! Anything for me?” 

“Telegram, sir — came just after you’d left. We 
thought it might be important, so I came along with it.” 

“That was very good of you,” and he ripped open the 
envelope, with such assumption of unconcern as he could 
manage, when his heart was beating dull with apprehen- 
sion of ill news. 

It was from St. Peter’s-insel and contained only two 
words — the two finest words in the whole world’s languages 
for him — 

“Come — Sonia.” 

“All right, sir?” asked Armstrong, as a preliminary to 
departure. 

“Quite all right, thank you, Armstrong! I am obliged 
to you for bringing it. No, nothing to send back. Good- 
bye and au revoir !” 

“From his young lady, I should say,” said Armstrong to 
himself, as he looked again at the twenty-franc piece in his 
hand. 

“Come — Sonia.” 

And did she think then that he could possibly have for- 


316 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


gotten that she was expecting him? — that in the fearful 
rush and stress of diplomatic affairs in September he had 
overlooked the fact that he was due at St. Peter’s next 
day? 

He laughed joyously to himself, and consulted his 
watch again to make sure it had not stopped. 

And there was such a glad look of contentment with all 
the world in his face, that a small peasant person of three 
or so, who had rambled away from her natural protectors, 
and found herself momentarily bewildered by the unusual 
size of the world, caught hold of his leg for safety and 
laughed up at him. And he would have kissed her as he 
handed her over to her apologetic mother, if her face had 
been a little cleaner, so he gave her a franc instead, which 
did quite as well. 

“Come — Sonia.” 

She could not possibly have imagined that he needed any 
reminder— not possibly. 

Then what was the meaning of it? 

Could she be in any difficulty — and this an urgent call 
for help? Aunt Olga! Perhaps she had been taken sud- 
denly ill, and Sonia, all alone there with her, craves his 
help. 

It might mean anything, but in any case it told him 
that Sonia was alive and waiting for him at St. Peter’s. 

He ran across to the telegraph office and wired her: 
“ En route. With you early to-morrow” — so that any 
possible anxiety as to his coming might be removed. 

“Come — Sonia.” 

What could it mean? 

Could it be that the sight of her at St. Peter’s had re- 
called to the authorities the fact that she was there when 
their prisoner escaped from Ste. Julienne last year — and, 
putting two and two together, were they causing her an- 
noyance ? 


“COME— SONIA!” 


317 


Could it possibly be — but it was a long time before he 
got to that, and only when he had exhausted every other 
supposition — that anything had happened to SordavalaP 

And at that his heart beat furiously. 

Before God, he said to himself, he had no wish for the 
man’s hurt. He would not — he could not — lift a finger 
if by doing so he could blot him out of her remembrance 
for ever. But, all the same, he did most earnestly desire 
to see Sonia free of him — not for his own sake but for hers. 
And he could no more help desiring that than he could help 
breathing. 

Sonia, loosed from that miserable tie, would be Sonia 
free to live her life to the full, in whatever direction it 
might lie. It would mean a new Sonia, with all the dead 
past buried and done with. And it would mean joy inex- 
pressible to him, even though their lives thereafter lay far 
apart. 

“Come — Sonia !” 

He could not sleep. He stretched himself in his berth 
in the sleeping-car, and had never felt so wide awake in his 
life. He went back to the restaurant-car and drank coffee 
and smoked. If he closed his eyes the words glowed in 
fiery curves on that inner darkness. When he looked out 
into the night they were racing merrily along in the dark- 
ness there, and the clanking wheels below were shouting, 
“I’m coming, coming, coming!” 

Pontarlier at last, Dieu merci ! — and out into the chill 
of the dawn for more hot coffee at the buffet, and a sand- 
wich roll to munch as he tramped the platform, and 
watched the sun come up over the great gateposts of the 
Promised Land, with as grand a deliberation as the rail- 
way people showed in getting ready the train for Verrieres. 

Off at last — a perfunctory visit from a courteous Cus- 
toms officer, who accepted his word for it that he was not 
in the smuggling line — Verrieres — Val de Travers — many 


318 


THE HIGH ADVENTURE 


tunnels — Neuchatel Lake sparkling in the morning sun- 
shine — and at last Neuchatel itself. 

No train north for nearly two hours. A carriage and 
pair then, from the hotel opposite the station, as quickly 
as they can be put together. It will only save him an 
hour, but he cannot stand about and wait — for Sonia, 
over on St. Peter’s-insel yonder, is calling “Come !” 

A word to the driver, and the horses enter into the spirit 
of it. Hauterive up on the left, and St. Blaise on the 
right, within ten minutes of the start ! Cornaux — and 
Cressier — and there is wooded Jolimont — and the Thielle, 
up whose waters he rowed Sonia to meet Darya, that dark 
night, when he had only known her two days — and there, 
across the flats, is Ste. Julienne itself, where the poor 
child’s heart had beaten itself against the bars. 

And here is the Bieler See — and Landeron — and there, as 
soon as the corner is turned, is he blessed little Isle of 
Peace itself; and it is not yet nine o’clock, and the train 
from Neuchatel will not start for still another hour. 

And there across the water is the Jean- Jacques Rous- 
seau , panting leisurely along the green jungle of the 
peninsula from St. Peter’s to Erlach, and it will not make 
the return journey till after eleven, no, not even though 
you take five full first-class return tickets at one franc each 
all for yourself. 

So — a boat and a man ! — and in another five minutes 
Neuveville was in their wake, and the oars squeaked joy- 
ously on their pins, and the clumsy boat leaped to his 
stroke, as he urged it to unwonted speed across the lake to 
Sonia. 

“Shall I carry Monsieur’s bag to the hotel?” asked his 
boatman, as they made the wooden landing-stage. 

“No, just heave it up here. I will send for it. Thanks ! 
Here you are!” and as the boatman pulled lazily back to 
Neuveville, he reckoned how soon he could buy up the town 


“COME — SONIA !” 


319 


if only he had two or three customers like that every day 
of his life. 

Vemey stood for a moment, bareheaded, recalling the 
first time he set foot on that ricketty little wooden pier, 
and all that had come of it. And he was grateful for it 
all, but chiefly at finding himself there again, and not as 
a stranger in an undiscovered country, but as the one 
to whom Sonia called, “Come!” 

He went swiftly along the sedgy path through the 
low-lying outer belt of trees, to the great granite wall 
which marked the island proper. 

He passed up the incline which had once been a boat- 
landing, and crossed the rich firm turf, spread thick with 
purple crocuses. 

And at this time he did not hestitate as to which of the 
various paths he would take. He went straight up the hill 
towards the beech of many memories, with a spring in his 
step that told its own tale — tripped on a hidden pine- 
root, the very same skulker which had tripped him once 
before and had been lying in wait for him ever since — and 
as he recovered himself he heard the sweetest voice in the 
world saying — 

“Oh, my dear ! How glad I am to see you !” and Sonia 
stepped out from behind the big beechtree and fairly fell 
into his arms, laughing and crying all at the same time. 

“You may kiss me,” she said, in a voice and a way that 
were so new to him that his heart jumped, and the blood 
went tingling through his veins like hot wine, and he 
knew that something had come to pass. 

He kissed her as she wished — for the first time ; and she 
put her arms round his neck and kissed him back, mur- 
muring, “My dear! My dear!” 

“And now, dear, tell me your news,” he said eagerly. 
“I know you too well to think we are out of bounds.” 

“There are no bounds.” 


320 THE HIGH ADVENTURE 

“Thank God!” he said fervently. “Sit here with your 
back against our beech and tell me all about it,” and he 
sat down at her feet on the cushiony pine needles, and 
watched her eloquent face. 

“We got word only yesterday, though it happened over 
a month ago. I told you the kind of man he was, harsh 
and cruel and treacherous. He was transferred from Kara 
because of his cruelties. It only made him worse. A pri- 
soner out there in Yakutsk killed him with an axe because 
of his ill-treatment.” 

“And it is beyond all doubt?” 

“We had the word officially directed from Petersburg, 
yesterday. It is beyond all possibility of doubt. The 
letters reached us at Unterhofen, and we packed up at 
once and came on here, and I wired you as soon as we 
arrived. I knew it would puzzle you, but I could not 
explain in a telegram. What did you think?” 

“I thought everything under the sun — and moon — and 
stars.” 

“This included?” 

“Yes — this included! First I had a crazy idea that you 
thought I might possibly have forgotten the day and hour 
and the minute when I was to be allowed to come to you. 
Then I thought Aunt Olga might have been taken suddenly 
ill. Then, that the Ste. Julienne people might be on to 
you. Then — oh, all kinds of things all through the night. 
I never slept one wink ” 

“Poor old boy !” 

“And, finally, I wondered if anything could have hap- 
pened to Sordavala. I have never wished him ill, Sonia. 
But from the very bottom of my heart I say now: Thank 
God you are free of him !” 

“Yes. Thank God! . . . Kiss me again, dear, to tell 
me I am free !” 












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